


Not all who wander are lost

by londubh



Category: Captain America (Movies), Outlander (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Gratuitous depictions of Scotland, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-11 21:23:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7908088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/londubh/pseuds/londubh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the history books say Steve Rogers crashed the Valkyrie in 1945 and was never found.  They were wrong.  He disappeared in Scotland two months later.</p><p>Outlander Inspired AU - Steve Rogers, on leave in Scotland as the war ends, is flung forward through time.  He has to choose between trying to find a way back, and making a home for himself here with reminders of his past at every turn; while Bucky is drawn to this stranger in their midst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my betas thisandthatofyou and [romans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/romans/pseuds/romans)
> 
> And again to romans for listening to my ranting and plotting over the last several months.
> 
> HUGE thanks to my artist [J](http://koreanrage.tumblr.com/) for her beautiful renditions of my BB. Check out [the art here](http://koreanrage.tumblr.com/post/149671790000/anndd-all-of-my-pieces-for-not-all-those-who?soc_src=mail&soc_trk=ma)

Steve shifted carefully on the too-soft mattress, cautious of disturbing the sleeping brunette at his side. He studied the landscape of the ceiling, mind automatically comparing it to the maps that used to be spread over the pitted tables at headquarters, awaiting his next strategy of attack. Gritting his teeth, he forced the thought away, and extracted himself from the clutches of the bedding, knowing that sleep was beyond him in this mood. He dressed quickly, in simple clothing, hoping that some exercise would settle his mind - he’d spent far too much time these last few weeks resting. 

He ran a hand through his hair, grimacing as the ring on his hand caught several strands. Checking that he hadn't disturbed his companion, he stealthily left the room, grabbing a small sketchbook on his way. With the fall of the Valkyrie and the end of the war in Europe, they were supposed to be at peace now, but leaving a sign of where he had headed would be for the best. Leaning against the wall he quickly sketched out a monkey running laps. He propped the open sketchbook up against a mug where it would be easily spotted, and then he slipped out the door, closing the latch carefully behind him. 

The moon shone brightly in the cloudless sky outside. He drew in a deep breath of the still night air, centering himself, before jogging off down the track that led into the fields behind the house. The landscape was filled with undulating hills, simple stone walls and fences dividing the rough terrain into fields. He felt no desire to run along the lanes and roads, but instead to explore this dramatic landscape - similar to what he had experienced in Europe but less ravaged by the tides of war. He kept his focus on the ground in front of him - ever since he’d argued his way back to Britain, the stars had only reminded him of the Howling Commandos; if he let his mind drift, he expected to hear them all around him. An owl shrieked as it swooped over his head, pulling him from his thoughts, and gradually the repetitive motion of running helped calm his fraying nerves, and began to settle his mind.

He carried onward, diverting around bogs and marshy land when he had to. The landscape rose and fell around him. When the sky began to lighten with the hint of approaching dawn, he turned and began to make his way back towards the cottage. At the top of a small hill he paused, marvelling in the isolation of the landscape, with no housing or sign of mankind to be seen, the landscape unmarred by the war. As he stood there, the last rays of moonlight glinted off of something in a nearby hollow between two hills. 

Curious, he scrambled down the hillside to find two groupings of stones. One group was arranged in an almost perfect circle. The other was a rough oval, with gaps suggesting missing stones. The shadows of the stones wavered in the rising sun, and for the first time in months he felt compelled to do more than draw simple cartoon sketches. The markings and carvings on the stones stood out with the rising angle of the sun. They were delicate and fine, sweeping back and forth in an endless dance. He slowly made his way around the oval, studying the stones. He wished he’d brought paper and pencil with him. Perhaps he could return tomorrow.

The two larger stones had scattered moss and lichen on them, obscuring some of the finer markings covering them, and he gently traced one line, flinching as something scraped his finger. There was a small streak of blood on his skin, the only sign that it had been broken at all. He rummaged in his pocket, looking for a handkerchief to wipe it away. And suddenly became aware of a humming noise increasing all around him. It seemed to be coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. It enveloped him in it’s hum, resonating in his bones. He pulled his hands from his pockets, vaguely aware of something falling out as he dropped into a fighting pose. The sound rose abruptly, became the rushing of the wind.

All thought of what had fallen from his pocket was pushed away, suddenly, by the overwhelming memory of Bucky plummeting to his death, the wind had pulled their cries away before they could be heard, and blown the tears from his face before they could even fall. He shook himself, but the rushing wind still filled his ears, and glanced down at his feet to see his compass, open to the picture of Peggy. Suddenly he was back in the Valkyrie, her voice in his ear. He thought he knew how Bucky had felt, with the wind cradling him as he fell.

And then the darkness swallowed him and he knew no more.

***

Light spilled suddenly back in the carriage as the train emerged from the tunnel, pulling him away from his memories of the freezing darkness of the Arctic circle. Their small compartment was bright and airy, a far cry from the troop trains he’d endured crossing back and forth across Europe and the speeding metal bullet of Hydra.

He shook the thought from his mind and stood, carefully shuffling through the small briefcase that had been given to him, searching for a journal and his _Serviceman’s Guide to Annandale_. Peggy glanced up at him as he sat down again, concern clear on her face.

“Everything all right, darling?” she asked, idly fussing with the knitting on her lap.

“Just felt like I oughta to read up on the area,” Steve said, extracting the guide from his briefcase. “Maybe plan some daytrips - I suppose I’ve been busy for so long I forgotten how to sit and do nothing.” 

The laughter in Peggy’s eyes made it clear that she was aware of the mess that he’d made of several training facilities back in London, and the panic he’d caused when he snuck out the hospital and onto a plane back in New York. He ducked his head, blushing slightly, and started sketching. Their cover for this mission was a newlywed couple on honeymoon. He wanted to attempt some illustrations of what he’d hoped the day could have been, if this were real, if things had been different.

He started with an archway, penciling in trellises and cascading roses before adding in a vague feminine figure for Peggy herself. He considered her style for a moment before making her dress simple and elegant, giving a large bouquet and long veil most of his attention. Peggy’s hair was pulled up into elegant curls for their imaginary wedding. 

Contented with the image, he turned a page and began to sketch out the wedding party - Phillips in a good suit, Howard preening like he had been at the World Expo, the Commandos out of uniform. The lead of his pencil snapped when he pressed down too hard, and he realized that he’d drawn Bucky on the edge of the crowd. He was turned away from everyone, his face hidden. Even in his sketches, in fantasy, Bucky was gone to him now.

He took a deep breath and closed the journal, careful not to crumple the sketch of Peggy, and picked up the book. He missed Peggy’s concerned gaze as she spun her new rings on her finger. She settled back down to her knitting, focusing on it as if it could tell her all the answers.

It was early evening when they finally disembarked at the quiet little station in Lockerbie, and wandered up onto the main street, stopping in at a quiet little tea room near the station. Over tea they ignored the stares from curious locals and enjoyed a simple, hearty meal. The sculpture of winged victory on the memorial outside kept catching Steve’s eye. Her head was raised up, eyes fixed on the horizon, instead of gazing demurely downward like the other memorials he’d seen. Her sword raised up as a shield, not as a weapon.

As they finished their drinks, a nearby clock began to chime the hour. Peggy grasped his arm, guiding him out the tea room and back down the street to the station where an eager young woman was waiting for them.

“Lizzie!” The girl said, “Oh Lizzie, it is good to see you, and on such an occasion! I could scarcely believe it when I got your telegram.” She bounced forward to hug Peggy and coo over her rings.

“Kitty! It’s been so long,” Peggy said. “Thank you so much for your assistance, are you sure that it’s quite alright to borrow the car for so long?” 

“If you don’t mind dropping me back off at the farm on the way past, it’s perfectly all right,” Kitty said. “I can grab lifts with the neighbours if I’m desperate to get about, besides I’m likely to be quite busy helping with the farm over the next few weeks. That time of the year again.” 

Peggy nodded and smiled, and Steve just focused on following their chatter to the car nearby. Carefully loading in their bags, he climbed into the back seat, despite their protests.

“It’ll let you both have the chance to catch up a little more” he said. “Besides, I wouldn’t like to cause an accident. I’m afraid my driving skills are a little haphazard.” Kitty nodded sympathetically, and Peggy gazed at him for a moment before settling in the driver’s seat.

Following directions up through the greens and browns of an idyllic, rippling landscape, they reached a small group of whitewashed buildings, where Kitty hopped out of the car and waved to the people who stuck their heads out at the noise.

“If you need any help just pop down here,” she said, leaning into the open window. “The farmer’s wife is usually in the house if no one else is about. Just say you’re a friend of mine if you do come down.”

“Thank you, Kitty,” Peggy said. “Good luck with the harvest.” 

Steve waved to Kitty as he moved into the front of the car, feeling a little more relaxed than he’d been when they had set out from London. Peggy drove further up into the hills in peaceable silence, although he felt her gaze upon him now and again as he watched the landscape go by.

They reached a small cottage up a beaten track, and unpacked the car in silence. The quiet was broken only by birdsong in the trees around them. He took their bags up to the bedroom and came back down to see Peggy fanning the flames of the stove. 

Once the fire had caught, she swung the kettle over to heat through. She looked up as he came over to the small dining table and sat down.

“Is there anything I can do to help you? I know it’s been strange these last few weeks, but I’m sure that things will settle down shortly.” She drew closer to him and took a nervous breath. “With the Peace Treaties signed, we’re starting to send out search parties for the fallen troops. I’m not sure anyone told you, but the Commandos offered to search through the Alps, see if they can bring him back.” Steve’s breath caught in his throat, and Peggy leant against him gently, wrapping her arms around his shoulders from behind. Her breath warm against his neck. 

“Once we’ve finished here you might be able to join them, if you wished. It was felt that a lighter mission might be good for you right now. Give you some breathing space.”

“I know,” Steve said roughly, surprised at the ache in his throat. “I guess I just need some time to - to process what happened. We had to move so quickly there--” He clasped her hands gently in his own, and gazed down at their rings. 

“Maybe we should think of this mission as a trial run, see how well we fit together. Running a household, I mean,” Steve added, hurriedly. He blushed and ducked his head. “You get what I’m trying to say, right? I’m still no good at this.”

“Talking to women? No, you’re still not great at it. But maybe, we should give you some practice.” She tugged gently on his hand, still clasped in hers, pulling him up to his feet. 

“Perhaps we could start with a dance?”

***

Light suddenly rushed back into his vision, disconcertingly bright, as though time had sped onward without his notice. Steve staggered sideways, catching himself on one of the stones, and took a moment to catch his breath. Even stepping out of the chamber hadn’t felt like this. With his head pounding and his ears ringing, he stumbled out of the circle, pointed himself in the direction that he hoped the cottage was in, and set off, step after stumbling step. It wasn’t too different to being small again, making his way home after a fight. Only this time Buck wouldn’t be there to clean him up afterwards. 

Doggedly he continued on, following his instincts and hoping they were right. Eventually he came upon a scene so strange that he was forced to stop. There was no way that he’d have missed a brightly colored temple surrounded by statues and out-buildings, even in the middle of the night. The fluttering of flags strung up from every imaginable surface added to the cacophony assaulting his senses, and his eyes were strained by the reflection of the sun from the gold-leafed roofs of the buildings. 

Before he could turn to find his bearings, an unearthly shriek erupted from a nearby bush. His senses, strained to to their limits, gave out. Steve toppled to the ground.

***

Quiet jazz music filled the air as he stirred, familiar notes jarring his rattled nerves. Without opening his eyes he focused on the room, hearing only the steady breathing of another person - calm, settled breathing. Not someone who was nervous about Steve waking up. Good, that made things easier.

Cautiously, he opened his eyes, exaggerating his reaction to the light. It would be better to play at being a regular joe for now.

“Hey there. How you doing?” a voice said. “That was quite a knock you took.”

The man sitting in a small chair beside the bed looked kind. He wore glasses, and his rumpled, curly hair was just starting to turn towards grey. Steve carefully sat up and glanced at the room around them. It mostly looked like he felt it should, but something about it made him wary.

“Where -- where am I?” He didn’t even have to fake the shiver in his voice, that was probably a good thing. Probably.

“You don’t remember?” The man said with surprise. “You’re at Samye Ling, it’s a Buddhist Monastery - you don’t recall coming here? Some of the monks found you collapsed in the courtyard this morning. They asked me to check you over since I have some experience with medicine.”

He stood, and gently examined Steve’s head. The careful probing made his head hurt, but past experience had proved this tended to pass quickly. Steve marshalled his thoughts and decided to hold his tongue until he knew more. This could all be a front, despite how friendly this man seemed. God knows there were plenty of people out there who would love to get their hands on him.

Steve suddenly realized that the man had asked him a question. 

“A monastery?” he said, “I don’t know. I don’t think I was coming to a monastery. I can’t remember.” He stared at the wall for a moment, at the flaking paint, before looking up at the man. “Could hitting my head have made me forget?”

“Possibly,” The man said, reaching down into his bag for what looked like a small pen. “Could you look at me for a moment? I just want to check your pupil reactions. You don’t seem to have much of a bump but I just want to check.” He clicked the pen and Steve realized it was a light. A shiver rippled down his spine as he looked where the man indicated. 

“I’m sorry,” the man said said suddenly. “You can tell I’m not actually a doctor, my bedside manner is terrible. My name is Bruce. Do you remember your name? Do you have anything in your pockets that might help you understand how you came to be here? Train tickets, anything?”

Steve glanced at Bruce for a moment, then patted down his pockets, surprised to find them empty of everything but a scrap of paper. Frowning, he turned the pockets on his coat inside out. His compass was gone. The receding ache in his skull made it hard to think, but he didn’t recall seeing the light catch on it as he’d left the circle. The pounding in his head and blurry vision meant he could have missed it, though. Realising his silence was becoming suspicious, he tried to remember his cover name.

“I’m… Arthur? I think. I’m sorry, my head aches, makes it difficult to think. All I seem to have on me is this,” Steve said, handing across the blank scrap. “Not very helpful, I know.” 

Bruce smiled back at him gently and rested a hand on Steve’s knee.

“I’m sure things will come back in time,” he said. “I’ll get you some painkillers, and then if you feel up to it there’s some benches outside. The fresh air and seeing the place might help trigger some memories.”

Bruce left the room for a moment, returning with two round pills and a bottle of water. The bottle made the chill down Steve’s spine solidify into a cold lump in his stomach. Too many things were different, were advanced beyond what they should be. A light in a pen. Thin, reliable material for bottles. Things definitely weren’t right. He took the pills and sipped at the water, stifling his reactions to the strangeness of it all. 

He slowly stood and shuffled out the door slightly stiffly, unaccustomed to the lingering ache in his muscles - it had been years since he’d felt quite so worn out.

The gentle breeze and sun on his skin did feel good, but he retained an element of wariness despite seeming relaxed. Bruce sat beside him, a semi-reassuring presence - his gut said this was a good guy, but until he knew more about what was going on he was refraining from getting too close. He could be a plant, a way to gain his trust. 

Suddenly there was an unearthly shriek from nearby and he almost fell off the bench. Bruce turned to look at him in concern. A drab-looking bird wandered past them, and Steve realized the shriek was coming from the bird, not from some strange Hydra experiment. He a waved a hand at Bruce, and settled back to enjoy the sunshine and ignore the growing bite of unease in his gut. No point in worrying more until he had more information.

They sat in peaceful silence until bells chimed somewhere nearby. Bruce stood and stretched, and gestured for Steve to follow him. One of the buildings nearby had it’s doors wide open, and the smell of food drifted along on the breeze. Inside the building, the walls were brightly colored, oranges and yellows alongside deep blues: the mix of colors was strangely calming. Benches and tables were dotted around the large space, and there was what looked like a small gift shop off to one side. 

“Do you remember if you have any allergies? There’s menus on the tables if you want to check for anything that seems familiar.” Bruce said. 

Steve picked one up and skimmed it. He had no idea what a _panini_ was, but the soup sounded nice.

“I don’t think I’m allergic to anything here.” He was pretty sure he wasn’t allergic to anything nowadays. “Could you maybe get me a soup?” He asked, adding, “I’ll pay you back somehow.” Bruce nodded and headed over to the counter to order. 

Steve quickly assessed the room, hoping that there might be something around to help him figure out where he was. He spotted a pile of tattered-looking newspapers sitting on one of the tables, and nonchalantly sat down next to them, hoping he’d get a chance read them before Bruce returned to his side.

Steeling his nerves, he took the top one and glanced over the front page before nearly dropping it from shock. Given what had happened to him in the chamber it was hard to say things were impossible but had he been standing he’d have dropped to his knees. 

The date printed at the top of the paper read _2016_. 

How could it be 2016? He glanced at the next paper in the stack: 2016. If it was true, if it was real, he’d somehow travelled seventy years into the future.

He heard Bruce thanking the clerk and schooled his face. He needed some time to process this, to assess the situation further before he shared any reactions. Taking a deep breath, he pushed his emotions away relying on his experience on the bond circuit to put on an appropriate face. Bruce glanced at him briefly as he sat down, two bowls of soup and bread on the tray he’d brought over.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just … I wonder if I had a date.” He shrugged. “If someone’s noticed I’m missing or anything. Maybe I stood someone up.” 

Bruce passed him his soup and bread.

“Things should come back to you given a little time. And if you were in the country with someone, I’m sure they’ll start looking for you soon. Right now the best thing you can do is rest, give yourself some time to recover.” 

Steve scowled. That sounded just like what all the staff had been saying in New York before he snuck out onto a flight back to England. Bruce smiled gently.

“And if you need to move while you do that, I’m sure the monks here have some small jobs that you could help out with. All I ask is that you don’t push yourself too hard - I’m not strictly speaking a doctor, and I don’t want you to get hurt if you take something I said the wrong way.”

“Can we ask them after we eat? I’d feel better knowing that there’s something that I could be doing.” Bruce nodded, and Steve started on his soup, grateful for the chance to do something.

***

The monks gladly made up a list of tasks for Steve, and assured him that he was welcome to stay as long as he needed to. Helping to build and repair walls around the gardens brought him a sense of peace - the repetitive nature of the task soothing his wild thoughts. Using the strength the serum had brought him for a purpose that was almost the opposite of what the Army had desired of him: peace and rebuilding rather than damage and destruction. After all the talk of him not being useful, of how they wanted an army like him not just one man, realising he could own himself was freeing. For the first time in a long time Steve realized that even in this strange new place, this strange new time, he might be able to find his own path that would allow him to help others. Maybe he could even live a life that wasn't an endless battle.

Occasionally Bruce sat with him in the gardens, and they discussed the uses of the medicinal herbs and the colors of the flowers. Steve recognised the gesture for what it was - a reminder that there was someone he could speak to, who could help if he asked for it. At the same time, he sensed that Bruce was hiding something too. And perhaps he could tell that Steve wasn’t telling him everything.

Even so, the tranquility and serenity of this place wrapped around him like a blanket. Each day he woke feeling rested; he hadn’t felt this relaxed since he was a child. The repetitive nature of his work here helped him sort through thoughts in his mind - the way he had been manipulated to the benefit of others while he was still reeling from the impact of the serum. The reminder that he was still of little use, that he was an experiment and nothing more. The way he missed the companionship of the Commandos, how he’d felt like part of a family again with them all.

He sighed and shook his head, taking the wheelbarrow for another load of stone to fix the walls. Taking time to process the last few months was fine, but eventually he’d need to work out a plan for what to do next, and see if he could find out anything about what had caused him to suddenly find himself in this time. But for now, all he could do was help out and wait.

By the time he’d been there for a week he had a routine: he would sketch in the early light, and then work until lunch on repairs and maintenance around the compound. The afternoons he left open.

One morning he was sitting sketching the medieval walled garden when he realized he wasn’t alone. He stifled his instinctive reaction to dive for cover, and focused instead on the sketches - the war was over, long over for most people, and this place had so far proven itself to be peaceful. Moments later Bruce sat down beside him, and glanced over at the sketches, before turning his attention to the garden about them. Steve continued to fill in the detail of the moss and lichen on the arches, waiting for Bruce to speak.

“You haven’t really remembered much, have you?” Bruce said, eventually. 

Steve put down his pencil and shook his head, waiting for Bruce to continue.

“I have a friend-- a colleague really-- who might be able to help,” Bruce said. “I’m heading to Edinburgh for the final day of a conference tomorrow. You could come with me and we can contact my friend. See if we can find you some answers.” 

Bruce smiled sadly. “I know you’ve found some peace here, but if you had been in the area with someone I’m sure that we would have heard something by now.”

Bruce’s voice was gentle, his whole manner almost exaggeratedly so. Steve sighed, knowing that the tranquility he’d found here was gone now. Edinburgh would give him more access to information. He could figure out a means to become a new person in this strange world he found himself trapped in, if nothing else.

“Sure. Maybe a bigger place like Edinburgh can help shake something loose. Not like I have much to lose by giving it a try, right?” he said. Bruce nodded and clapped him gently on the shoulder.

“I’ll go make some arrangements for tomorrow, get a bag sorted out for you. Don’t worry, I’m sure my friend can help -- he’s a little over-enthusiastic at times but he means well.” Bruce said.

Steve smiled at Bruce and picked up his pencil once more, idly adding to the scene on the page before him.

“Let me know if there’s anything you need me to do. I’ll try and finish off some of the walls for the monks today. See you at lunch?” Bruce nodded and walked back to the main buildings, leaving Steve to his troubled thoughts.

***

The little station in Lockerbie had hardly changed. The war memorial still kept her watch, eyes still gazing upwards towards the future, but there were more flowers arranged around her than he remembered, the stained glass flags on the Town Hall windows hinting at a sorrow that he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear about.

The train itself, when they got on it, was busy. The interiors were sleek, like Hydra’s plane had been and Steve found himself wishing for the older trains, for the impression of privacy within the carriages and hallways. The journey passed quickly, and soon he arrived in Waverley Station. For a moment the vaulting arches of glass and metal seemed familiar, safe - and then they passed into another part of the station and it became a fusion of familiar styles with more modern features, shining glass and metal scattered around stone and steel. Steve followed closely behind Bruce, reluctant to lose him in the crowds.

Edinburgh was a pleasant city, full of it’s own bustle.

Music seemed to follow them as they wandered up through the cobbled streets, past modern facings on old buildings. Briefly he wondered if he could do the same, change his exterior to fit in here. He pushed that thought aside and concentrated on following Bruce, limiting his focus to the things that he could deal with for the moment.

Bruce seemed to be uneasy. He had checked his watch six times by the time they reached their hotel. Steve took a spare room key at Bruce’s insistence, and in return insisted that Bruce go to the conference and enjoy his final day. Only when they agreed to meet back up in the evening for dinner did Bruce leave him to do as he wished.

Steve ambled down the streets, pausing at whatever caught his interest. The blue-fronted windows of _Blackwells_ drew his eye with their displays: art supplies arranged around sculptures, a beautifully illustrated background behind a series of books. Steve stared at it for a minute, trying to figure out what a broomstick, an hourglass and an owl could have in common.

Intrigued, he headed inside, making his way down to a section of art supplies. He looked at the sketchbooks and pens, trying to decide - he had all day, after all, and the city would make for interesting studies. A shop assistant, noticing his confusion, drifted over to Steve.

Steve left the shop weighed down with a plastic bag full of sketchpads and pencils, and made his way to the National Museum of Scotland. He wandered through the galleries, pausing to sketch out anything that particularly caught his eye; a claymore in a glass case; an ancient harp; an effigy of Mary Queen of Scots. Eventually, he reached the floors on Modern Scotland, hoping that it might be a good starting point to see some of the history he had missed since 1945. It might fill in some of the context of the last seventy years without making him immediately aware of what he had abandoned everyone to. 

Although some of the developments were surprising, he could see hints of what he knew within them. Thankfully most of the changes appeared to be for the better - much better health care, far fewer deadly diseases. The evolution in music surprised him, but he could see the roots of his time in many of the changes. He strolled through the galleries and rooms, browsing the changes and shifts in thinking, absorbing them.

He paused briefly in a small corridor, looking out the window as he considered everything he’d seen. The crowd thronging the statue of a dog at a crossroads caught his eye, and he pondered it a for moment before working his way down through the other floors. 

In the entrance hall a large group distracted him briefly, their thick New York accents wrapping him in sense of home even as he rubbed away the goosebumps that had risen on his arms as he crossed the floor. A chill went down his spine. Mentally, he shook himself and left, heading into the fresh air and across the road to the statue he’d seen before. 

A small panel fastened to the railings told the story behind the dog: _Greyfriar’s Bobby_. When his master had died in 1859, Bobby had returned daily to sit by the grave, keeping watch for over a decade.

Steve swallowed around the lump in his throat. He hoped that Peggy hadn’t fallen to that same level of waiting, of devotion to him. That there wasn’t a statue of him in a park back home, mobbed the same way this one was. He watched a tour group pat the statue, and looked back at the museum before deciding to move on. Perhaps he should try and find out some of what happened to Peggy and the others. Prepare himself, if there were indeed statues of Captain America for the masses to admire.

He was considering the nearby cafes an elaborate building slightly further along the street caught his eye. It looked like one of the Art Deco high-rises he’d seen springing up in New York when he was a kid. As he headed toward it, he saw that it was the National Library of Scotland and he glanced to his left and saw another library - a beautiful Victorian structure littered with leaded-glass windows. The sign on the gate post read Edinburgh Central Library. He paused a moment, studying the detailed facade and decided to look inside. It would be as good a place as any to start researching the last seventy years. And if it wasn’t then he should have plenty of inspiration for sketches.

It seemed like time was one thing he had plenty of.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time he met back up with Bruce that evening, his sketchbooks were almost full and his nerves were still raw with the breadth of what he’d missed. He’d skimmed quickly through some of the history books, moving on to a different one at the mention of each familiar name, each reminder that he didn’t belong here. Ruthlessly, he pushed the feeling aside, burying it down deep - until he knew more, there was little use dwelling on it. He might be in the future, but there would still be value in him as a lab rat, a specimen to test on. He made idle small talk with Bruce and his companions around the dinner table, scribbling small sketches on his napkin, sensing he was being watched but stubbornly ignoring the sensation.

After the meal, Bruce made his apologies to the others and led Steve back to the hotel, the two of them walking back in companionable silence in the warm summer air. When they reached the hotel Steve was surprised to how large Bruce’s room was, multiple doors spinning off from a comfortable seating area.

“You didn’t change your room for me did you?” he asked. “I would have been able to find something by myself.” 

Bruce shook his head.

“My friend, the one that might be able to help you out, booked the trip for me and held to his usual standards. I’d have been happy with just a room somewhere, but he insisted I get a suite. I’m grateful that I can now put it to a proper use.” He glanced over at the laptop sitting on the desk. “How was your day? Did walking around help anything else come back to you? If you want some help, I know that my friend will do his best.” 

Steve shook his head.

“An American tour group passed me earlier, complaining about how the food here didn’t compare to that back home. That was the only thing, their accents making me feel like I was somewhere else. Somewhere familiar, somewhere safe. There was just something about that New York twang, the mention of Nathan’s,” Steve said. 

He sighed and looked out the window, watching the clouds drift by in the slowly darkening sky. “Maybe I should go ask for help. I just don’t know where to begin. I know my name but that alone can’t do much, can it?”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll take a picture and send it to my friend, give him a starting point. He tends to keep odd hours, so email is likely the best place to start, he’ll call us when he’s planning something. With your picture and your name he should be able to narrow down the search some. Apart from that it’s probably better to get some rest for now.” Bruce directed Steve over to the window, and held up what was apparently a phone to take some pictures. “I’ll send that off to him now, let him know the best times to contact me.” Steve nodded, and shifted his weight restlessly. 

He sat awkwardly with Bruce for a while, trying and failing to focus on anything.

Finally he gave in, making his apologies and heading for a bed. Perhaps sleep would come easier than anything else. He had to show trust somewhere. He just hoped this was the right place.

***

Sleep was more elusive than he had hoped it would be. He tried changing position, darkening the room, adding a light. Nothing worked. Resigned to wakefulness, he changed into something easier to run in and quietly slunk out of the suite, heading away from the hotel to the large hill he’d seen from the windows. Hopefully the park surrounding it would be quiet enough that he could run without interruption, burn off some energy.

The pounding of his feet on tarmac as he lapped the hill soothed his frantic thoughts, the worry that he would be instantly recognised from the photo. That he would be taken away for experimentation. When he reached where he’d started he turned into the park, taking a different route to let his thoughts settle further. Running over the grass, the sounds of the city muted by the landscape around him, his thoughts calmed, and exhaustion began to settle in.

With the first hints of sunrise appearing in the sky, he made his way back to the hotel, avoiding the few passers-by he came across. As he curled into bed, the room was just beginning to brighten properly, and he dropped off into a restless slumber.

It felt like moments later that Bruce knocked on the door, startling him into full awareness.

“Arthur, are you awake? My friend got in touch, he wants us to come to New York. There’s a taxi on the way for us, should be here in half an hour.”

Steve opened the door and stared at Bruce, taking in his rumpled appearance and resigned expression.

“If I’m going, I’ll need to stop by the bookshop. I almost filled the sketchbooks I got yesterday - I want to grab some more if I’m going to be travelling,” Steve said. Bruce smiled in relief.

The rest of the morning became a confused blur. Packing everything they had. Darting into the shop to grab more sketchbooks. Their taxi weaving around tourists and buses alike on it’s way out of the city.

When they arrived at Edinburgh Airport a slender redhead was waiting for them. She raised her eyebrows at Bruce who glanced at Steve and shook his head, obviously putting off a discussion. As she led them briskly through the airport, Steve was struck by how well she used her clothing and mannerisms to make her seem weak - he’d seen Peggy do the same on missions. He kept a wary eye on her when possible, trying to stay alert for any sign of an attack.

She handed the waiting guard a file, while other staff members gestured Steve and Bruce through an arch, running their bags through a machine before returning them. Steve hid his confusion at the rigmarole under the pervading exhaustion of too little sleep, and did as he was asked.

Soon enough he found himself walking over the tarmac to a large plane emblazoned in red and gold, nerves jangling, to find the interior was much more like a living room than a plane. There was a strange blond man who seemed to be fiddling with an oversized screen. Steve nodded to him, putting off introductions until later, and headed straight to the bar where he could see a coffee pot. If he was to at least attempt to stay alert he’d need some. As he poured himself a cup and hunted for the sugar, he quickly studied the layout of the plane. Finding a semi-defensible position, he set down his coffee and bag, pulled out a journal and pens, and attempted to relax. 

There had been no problems at the airport, there was no sign of him being held here. He was safe. If the friend had turned up details of who he really was this all would be going much differently.

He took a sip of coffee, forced his concerns down, and tried to focus on sketching - trying to conceal the fact that he was fully aware of the whispered conversation at the back of the plane where the redhead had cornered Bruce.

“Tony is worried.”

“He shouldn’t be, Natasha. The guy has made no moves towards me, no threats at all. I think it’s just a fluke.”

“You can’t blame him for being worried, though. You could be a target.”

“I could. Any of us could. But I don’t think that’s the case here. He just needs some help, and Tony is the best I could think of. I couldn’t just leave him there - I’ve been the stranger in a strange land, and not knowing anything about yourself would just make it that much worse. All he knows is his name, and the familiarity of an American accent. I can understand your concerns, but-- give him a chance, please. He didn’t even ask to come to New York, just agreed that he was out of his depth, and that he needed to ask for help. Tony’s the one pulling strings here.”

Steve saw the redhead flinch, and he let a pen fall to the floor. He sensed her gaze on him as he picked it up. The plastic smile she used to return his friendly one didn’t surprise him; he doubted he would see anything real from her until she knew more about him. He settled back in his chair, sketching the plane as she made her way back to the blond man. 

Gradually the subtle motion of the plane combined with the lack of sleep overcame Steve’s caution, and he let himself drift off into a light sleep. He stirred himself for a meal when the attendants came around with some food before working a little more on the sketches he’d already made. He continued to ignore the quiet bickering between the others and eventually let himself drift off again, reasoning that it might be best to gather his energy now, in case he had to make a rapid escape when they arrived in America.

***

Steve awoke with a start when he sensed someone moving close to him, making the blond lean back hurriedly, eyebrow quirked slightly in surprise at Steve’s sudden movement. 

“Hey man, I was just going to wake you up. We’re just coming in for landing.”

Steve took a deep breath and nodded, looking around for his bag before the blond kicked it over to him. Carefully, he packed away his art supplies, glancing around to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. He stretched as he made his way to the exit, aware that he was the focus of the blond man’s attention. He tried his best to be just another part of the crowd.

After handing his bag over for another security check, he followed Bruce into the thronging mass of the main terminal. A dark-haired man was waiting for them, bouncing on his heels. When he saw Bruce he dragged him off, leaving Steve with a lingering sense of uneasy familiarity. The rest of them trailed behind Bruce and the man to a waiting limousine. Steve tucked himself discreetly into a corner of the large space and watched the others. When no one glanced his way, he slid out his journal and began working on some more sketches. Maybe if he drew the new man enough he’d figure out what it was about him that was so familiar.

The journey passed quickly with his attention held by the art. Once he had several pages of quick sketches of everyone he toyed around with various styles and designs. When he realized he was idly forming intricate knots and swirls he quickly turned the page. Until he knew what kind of situation he was in, he would play his cards close to the chest. The last thing he had expected yesterday evening was that he’d be back in New York within a day, and close enough to home to find out if his tenement was still standing. He could do precisely that, if he wanted to rub it in more that everything had changed, that time had moved on, that he had leapt over the distance in a heartbeat.

He was home, but he didn’t belong. 

Steve followed the group into the elevator warily, resigned to tagging along with them until he knew why he’d been brought to New York. The best thing to do right now now was to cause as little trouble as possible (he could hear Peggy laughing at him, in his mind). He had to try and make sure that he didn’t give himself away. He kept his eyes focused to the glass as the elevator climbed to the top of the building, staring at his own reflection rather than at the changed city around them. All too soon, the trip was over, and the elevator doors were opening into a luxurious room.

“Welcome back Sir, Miss Potts is looking for you,” an Englishman said over a loudspeaker.

“Tell her I’m busy,” The dark-haired man said, “JARVIS, new guy. New guy, JARVIS. Introductions done! Rooms are ready for you two floors door. Shout at JARVIS if you need anything.” The man turned, and tossed a small plastic bag, that he seemed to pluck out of thin air, in Bruce’s direction. “Brucey, my labs have been pining for you. Come hide me from Pepper?” Bruce grinned.

“It might be best to go freshen up downstairs, Arthur,” Bruce said, turning to Steve. “If Miss Potts is on the warpath things might get kinda hot around here. JARVIS is Tony’s AI assistant - just call out and he’ll help you with almost anything you need.”

Steve smiled politely at Bruce and the others before glancing around for the elevator button. He’d just pressed it when he heard the approaching clack of heels against the floor.

“ _Anthony Stark_ , you had better have an explanation for skipping the R&D meeting this afternoon. If you don’t get a move on we won’t have the new products ready for launch!”

Steve stumbled backwards in surprise, mind spinning at the new information. _Stark_. The dark-haired man was was a Stark, that was why he was familiar. The elevator opened behind him and he quickly stepped in, needing to get away before he broke, before the knowledge overwhelmed him.

“Would you like me to guide you to your rooms?” The voice from before asked, as the doors slid shut. 

“Please,” Steve murmured, stifling the urge to jump out and run. Hide in plain sight, that was the key. If you ran they knew you had something to hide. If you started running they never let you stop. 

The doors slid open and he strolled out, following the blue lights that lit up as he neared them, until he found himself in front of a door. The building storm of emotion was too rapid for him to do a thorough sweep of the room. Blindly he opened the door, dropped his bag on the ground, and set out to look for a bathroom. Relieved to see the bathroom was already set up for use, he locked the bathroom door behind him and turned the shower on before shucking off his clothes. He curled up on the floor of the shower and let the water run over him. As the first sob broke free, he hoped the running water would be enough to muffle the sound. He let his grief and worry wash over him in a wave, sinking down into it, hoping that on the other side he could find balance.

***

Clint studied the room carefully from his dim corner: Bruce was looking at the elevator doors as Arthur departed, and Pepper was still berating Tony. Catching Bruce’s eye, he nodded and slipped from the room, heading down the back stairs.

“What’s the new guy up to, JARVIS? Which floor is he on?”

“Sir housed him in one of the guest suites. He seems to be freshening up after your travels today, perhaps taking a moment to settle himself. The extravagance of his surroundings seems to have unsettled him.”

Clint tapped the wall gently in acknowledgment, and let himself onto the appropriate floor, only to snort quietly to himself when he realized the door nearest him was ajar. Gently, he pushed it further open. He listened for a reaction and grinned when he heard the shower running.

Glancing around the suite, he found his task easier than he had expected - the guy had clearly been unsettled. The discipline of his reaction on being woken on the plane was deeply at odds with the way his bag had been abandoned in the middle of the room.

Listening for any change in the running water Clint quickly opened the bag and flicked through the sketchbooks that had been put away so carefully before leaving the plane. They were filled with page after page of sketches: places, people, objects, intricate patterns and designs. Nothing jumped out as any kind of code, unless it was hidden deeply in one of the swirling patterns interspersed among the rest of the work. Pulling out his phone he quickly took images of some of the sketches, Natasha would appreciate the way she’d been depicted and might be able to decipher any secrets hidden within the designs.

The rest of the belongings showed little detail of the man - basic cheap clothing, some reasonable art supplies and a small amount of cash. For the moment it indicated that what Bruce had passed along about this Arthur was the truth. He’d keep a watch over him for a short while regardless, now that he was in New York maybe he’d make a move. And if he didn’t then they’d have taken proper precautions.

Gently Clint repacked the bag as it had been and slipped out, tapping the wall to request JARVIS’ aid in closing the door silently, before heading back into the vents to find Natasha and show her the sketches. She was best at the kind of plan they’d need anyway.

***

Eventually the storm of grief and longing passed. Steve carefully got out of the shower, limbs half numb from holding in position for so long. He dried off carefully, avoiding looking in the mirror, and dressed in the same clothes. When he left the bathroom he stared for a moment before tentatively moving around the room. The casual display of wealth left him unsettled. His old apartment would have fitted easily into this one room. The elegant pictures on the wall, the furniture that spoke of money, all of it set him on edge. Was he to be another object to be collected? A missing specimen of some kind?

“Excuse me - JARVIS? Am I in the right place?”

“You are present in one of several guest suites provided in the Tower. Is there something wrong with your accommodation?”

“Not wrong. Just- would it be possible to speak with Bruce or someone?”

“Sir would desire to speak with you at your convenience. Or I may direct you to Doctor Banner if you would prefer?”

“Would it be possible to let them know I’d like to speak with both of them please? And where would be best to do so?”

“One moment please.”

Idly Steve glanced around the room before spotting his bag, he must have dropped it on the way to the bathroom earlier. He picked it up and settled it on his back, taking a deep breath and pushing his emotions down. If he was to encounter this relative of Howard’s again he’d need to keep his calm, hope that not too many stories of him had been passed down. That he could keep his anonymity for now.

“Doctor Banner has suggested the common space as a convenient location to talk. He and Sir will both be there presently, if you leave the suite I will direct you there.” Steve looked up at the voice and nodded, before remembering he couldn’t be seen.

“Thank you, JARVIS.”

“It is my pleasure. If you could follow the lights to the elevator I will aid you in reaching your destination.”

The trip back upstairs went quickly and Steve focused on his breathing, on pushing things away much in the same manner he had when planning that last attack on Hydra-- he shook his head and focused. He needed to ask for a space that he could more easily repay, that didn’t feel like a gilded cage. Find a way to support himself here. See if it was possible to make his way back. One step at a time.

The doors opened, and the small lights lit up once again, leading him to a comfortable communal space with sofas and a dining table off to one side near some kitchen units. He curled into an armchair and started to doodle, filling the time until the others arrived.

Time began to lose meaning as he sat there, curled up like he used to before the war. A new shadow falling over the page made him start, and he lifted his pencil before he could ruin the image he was working on. The strawberry blonde in an elegant business suit stepped back slightly.

“Please forgive me, I shouldn’t have pried. And I apologize for the way in which we met earlier. I’m Pepper, CEO of Stark Industries. I used to be Tony’s PA and he has a bad habit of skipping meetings that he’s not supposed to.” She smiled gently before gesturing to the journal. “We have a moderately large art collection scattered throughout the building. I’d be glad to show you around some of them, if you’d like that. Viewing them with someone who is actually interested in art would make a pleasant change from those who prefer to have these things for the sake of having them.”

“That would be very kind of you. I wouldn’t be keeping you from something more important?”

“Not at all. If you’re not too tired from your travels I can show you around some of the collection after dinner? Or you can get JARVIS to send me a message and we can arrange a better time.”

“Tonight would be fine, if you’re certain it’s not a problem. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Just ask JARVIS to contact me if something else comes up. Otherwise I’ll see you at dinner, Arthur.”

He raised a hand in farewell as she walked off, presumably heading back to her office, wherever that was. Idly he began to sketch her, trying his hand at Mucha’s style. He had it roughed out when Bruce appeared and headed over to the kitchen. Steve watched him unwind as he worked his way through the routine of making tea, and headed over to the counter dividing the room. Bruce glanced at him as he pulled cups out the cupboard and Steve nodded, settling cautiously into one of the tall chairs.

“Is Mr Stark on his way up?” He asked taking the steaming cup of tea, watching the ripples settle as he held the cup. Bruce nodded as he poured his own cup.

“I persuaded him to go to his workshop for a little while. Give you some time to settle. How did you find the flight?”

“Alright,” Steve shrugged. “Managed to sleep through a bunch of it. I just got a bit overwhelmed when we arrived earlier, had to get some space.” He met Bruce’s eye with a wry smile. “It’s not exactly a rural village here is it?”

“Rural village? I thought you were at a conference, Bruce, how could you lie to me like that?!”

Bruce shrugged and sighed, this level of teasing seemingly common, while Steve took a measured sip of his tea and tried to settle his nerves. He was slipping, hadn’t been aware enough of his surroundings to notice the approach of someone new.

“Anyway! New guy! Tell me your story, and with the help of JARVIS maybe we can fill in some of your blanks. How much do you remember?”

Steve watched as Mr Stark wandered around the kitchen, prodding a machine and looking in cupboards and small gaps. As the scent of coffee began to fill the air he looked down at his cup of tea and took a deep breath. Providing he kept close enough to the truth he’d be able to spin this.

“I know my name is Arthur, and that America feels familiar, like home. Other than that I don’t know much - if I was travelling with people they don’t seem to care that I disappeared. I don’t know what happened to my wallet, or anything else that belongs to me. I don’t even know how I ended up where Bruce found me.” He looked up to see them both watching him and idly rolled his mug in his hands. “Did I get directed to the right place earlier - I don’t want to be putting anyone out of their room. I’d be alright on a couch or something.”

“Nope, no can do. That’s my standard guest setup.” He waved his hands at the air and several blue projections appeared in the air. “Arthur the only bit of your name you remember?”

“Beauchamp. Arthur Beauchamp, I think. I don’t recall anything else, though.”

“Right, great. Make a fist and roll up your sleeve please.” Steve looked up, eyes narrowing.

“Why?”

“Standard procedures. The search I did last night with your picture and name brought up nothing. So JARVIS will start with scanning the missing persons images. Then blood-work, dental and fingerprints to see if you appear on databases if we don’t get any other results.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. Scan the images. Take my prints, check my dental work. No blood, no bodily tissue. Not happening.”

“Really? You really won’t...”

“Not a chance. My body, my choice. I didn’t come here to be used, I came here for help. Hell, I wasn’t even expecting to leave Scotland when we contacted you - you told us there was a flight, you told us the taxi was on the way. If you can’t help me, I’ll try somewhere else. Now, if there’s nothing else you want to demand of me, I’m going to head back downstairs. Figure out a way to support myself here, to pay something back for all that’s being done for me. I’m not a charity case.”

He pushed away his tea and stalked back to the elevator, grabbing his bag as he passed, filled with the urge to get some space. The doors opened as he approached and he leaned heavily against the wall as they closed behind him.

“JARVIS? Could you let Pepper know that I won’t be joining them for dinner, but I’d still like to have a look around with her if she’s willing?” There was a comfortable silence as he headed back to his room.

“Miss Potts says that would be fine, and she will meet you at your rooms later. She also reminds me to let you know that there is a coffee shop downstairs should you wish to grab something there instead of facing the others.”

“Thank you, JARVIS. If Bruce and Tony ask can you tell them I want to be alone right now?”

“Of course sir. I’ll let you know when Miss Potts is on her way along.”

“Thanks.” Steve murmured before starting to look around the apartment and get his bearings. If this was to become a trap, better to know the layout before it sprung.

*

By the time Pepper tapped on his door he had a good understanding of the layout of what was currently his space. If something happened he had several vague routes planned out to get away, most of them from the fire escape plans. Anything more detailed would need to wait until he found a way to become familiar with the overall structure of the building.

They walked in near silence around the Tower, working their way down through the artwork, enjoying the variety on display. Eventually he felt comfortable enough in her presence to relax somewhat, and to try and talk about some of his worries.

“Pepper, I know Mr Stark said that where I’m staying is his standard guest setup but I was wondering if you knew if there was somewhere else I could stay? I would be happy with just a couch somewhere, there’s really no need to give me an entire apartment.”

“I’m afraid that all the residences in the Tower are like the one you’re in. We have plenty of space however, so you’re not putting anyone out of their way. If you’d really like to pay us back there is maybe one thing you could do for me, if you’d like. Just something to help you keep busy, and of course you would be compensated for it.”

“There is?”

“I don’t know if you went down earlier but the lobby area around the coffee shop is rather bare. I’d like to have something down there to liven it up somewhat. I had been considering a sculpture, but seeing that you enjoy the art here so much and are keen on sketching I was wondering if you would consider possibly designing a mural? And potentially arranging it for me? It would be a benefit to your resume, and I’d be willing to pay you for it - with an agreed upon reduction in exchange for your use of the apartment here of course.”

“That would be a wonderful opportunity for anyone - are you sure you would like me to do it? You’ve just met me. You don’t know anything about me, I don’t know anything about me.”

“I’ve noticed the pieces that hold your attention, and the way your hands occasionally twitch as if you want to sketch elements of them. I also know that you spent a lot of time in Scotland, and on the way back, sketching away. Providing I approve of your concept I’d love you to attempt a design for me. If we can’t reach an agreement on a concept I’d be willing to allow you to manage the project while working on other things to help give you a living. And of course if it turns out you were in the midst of something else you would be able to leave with a minimal amount of notice.” She shrugged. “I know it’s unorthodox, but given that Tony’s involved no-one will bat an eye. And it might take some of the focus off of you if the media get involved.”

He considered it as they continued through the corridors, admiring and discussing some of the artwork as they went. By the time they reached the lobby he was tempted enough to take the offer, it would give him a reason to be here, and give him enough free time to research on how he could make his way back.

“Providing we work together some form of contract, I’d be willing to give it a shot. Maybe with specific stipulations for compensation if it turns out I’ve left someone else in the lurch. I just hope that I can produce something good enough for you.”

“I’ll have JARVIS look around for contract details, we’ll pull something together. In the meantime would you perhaps start building up a small folio? We can meet in a week or so, see what stage we’re at. I’ll get an expenses account set up for supplies and food - we can discuss the overall budget for that when we deal with contracts but I’d like for you to be able to get supplies if you need them for now.”

Steve glanced at her, but her expression and the tilt of her chin were ones that he recognised from his own reflection back before the serum - the expression that led him into fights without considering the effect it would have on him; the tilt of chin that led him to repeatedly attempt to enlist for the war. He nodded with a wry smile.

“I think for now I might head back upstairs, try and relax. It’s been a long day.”

“I’ll be in touch when we’re ready for contract discussions. Someone will drop off some essentials for you tomorrow, but tell JARVIS if you need anything else.” She smiled warmly at him. “Thank you for looking around the collection with me. It’s been very enjoyable. I hope that you manage to get some rest tonight, jet lag can be such an annoyance. And things can sometimes be - exciting around here. It’s sometimes best to grab sleep when you can.”

He frowned before nodding in agreement, and together they headed for the elevator, the short journey passing in a comfortable silence before Steve got off and stumbled along to his room. He collapsed on the bed still dressed, letting sleep take him away from here.

***

The wind bit into his face as he sped along the zipline and tumbled onto the roof of the train. Everything seemed too quiet, too simple: and then the doors had slammed shut, separating him from his team. The rising hum of HYDRA guns fills his ears. 

Dazed, he can only watch in horror as they fire, sending Bucky flying out a hole in the side of the train. Even as he’s moving to the gap, reaching out for Bucky’s hand--

Bucky’s just out of reach no matter how far he stretches. The rail Bucky is holding suddenly breaks, and all he can see is Bucky falling away from him. For a heartbeat he can do nothing but stare, and then he lets go, angling his body to try and fall faster, catch up with Bucky, save him somehow --

\-- and the wind is whistling around him through shattered glass, snow and shards of glass scoring his skin. Laughter fills his ears as he stares down into the abyss.

 _“You could have had the power of the Gods, yet you wear a flag and fight the silly battles of nations!”_ The Red Skull taunts, firing at the fragmented panel behind Steve. _“Here is where we part, you will learn your lesson soon enough!”_

And then he is falling, filled with the knowledge that he has failed. And then ice wraps itself around him, stealing his breath with it’s chill embrace--

Steve jolted awake, ghostly laughter still echoing through his mind, and instantly knew that he wouldn’t be able to get any more sleep. Not with the echo of cold in his bones. The look on Bucky’s face as he fell behind his lids.

Shaking his head to loosen the hold of memories he pulled the covers back to air them and changed into fresh clothing before gathering his journal again. If sleep wasn’t an option it made sense to start on a portfolio of work he could show to Pepper.

“JARVIS, is there any food upstairs where I met with Mr. Stark earlier? Would it be alright for me to head up there?”

“There should be some food on that level, Mr. Beauchamp. Although it is technically for that floor, the area is used as a common space by most of the residents on the upper floors. No one should take offence at your presence there. If you require any further advice, please do not hesitate to ask me for assistance.”

“Thank you, JARVIS. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He followed the now familiar path to the elevator and headed up, careful not to make too much noise in case he disturbed someone. Gathering some simple food, Steve settled into a comfortable looking chair by the window and gazed out over the city. While he ate, he slowly studied the changes time had wrought, noting the new buildings and the ones that still remained. There were more familiar sights on the skyline than he had expected to find, a realization that sent a small measure of warmth back through his veins.

Carefully, he curled up in the chair as much as he could, as close to the way he used to curl up in windows and on fire escapes as was possible, and started to sketch out the skyline, learning this new angle of New York the best way he could.

A faint sound behind him eventually broke through his concentration and he glanced around to find nothing there. Looking back out the window and seeing the brightening sky it became obvious that he had been drawing for longer than he realized, drawn into the work. Quickly he cleared up, removing all sign of his presence here and headed back down, small waves of tiredness starting to flow through him now, enough that he might be able to get a little sleep, adjust to this timezone.

Once he was settled here, then he could start to look into ways back. How he’d even gotten here in the first place. Carefully he wound himself in the cool blankets and let sleep take him in it’s embrace, hoping that this time no further dreams were waiting for him.

***

Bucky roamed through the Tower doing his usual checks upon return from a mission - he was usually wound up tight enough that he had to visually verify JARVIS’s reports for himself. Having a semi-permanent base in New York was helpful but also like returning to a life long forgotten. Stark and Banner were working away in the labs like usual - the only ones still awake apparently. Slowly he made his way down to the common area for a drink, only to freeze in the entrance at the sight of blond hair gleaming in the light as a man sketched away, curled up in a comfortable armchair as though he was supposed to be smaller.

The room around him faded away slightly as memories rushed over him: coming back to find Steve sketching away, curled as small as possible to retain warmth in their cold apartment. His hand started to shake, metal arm humming through recalibration as he tried to stifle his reactions. As silently as he approached, Bucky left the room and headed down to the basement, back to base. He’d better go and see Doctor Randall - he had been thinking of the past lately, hard not to when facing New York all the time, but he'd better make sure that he hadn’t accidentally set off a long-buried trigger if he was seeing things that he _knew_ couldn’t be true.

He returned several hours later, wound tighter than before. Any results wouldn’t be available for hours and they didn’t want him hovering around waiting. The common area was empty, nothing out of place, no sign of anyone having been there. Shaking his head he set up the coffee machine before beginning another circuit of the floors. He needed to ground himself, stick to his routines if he was to stand any chance of getting some rest before noon.

Most of the building was silent in the pre-dawn light, but Bruce and Tony were still in the lab. They were bickering much more than usual, the glow of an image floating in the air between them. He kept out of sight but edged closer to the labs, curious as to why the two good friends were arguing so intently.

“It’s not normal, Bruce! It’s like he’s some kind of ghost! It should not be possible to have this small a digital record. He must be some kind of plant to steal your research for the army - you heard what Clint said about the plane.”

“If that were the case he’d have tried something before now, Tony. He had plenty of time before I even contacted you for help.”

“It’s too neat though. Man collapses, gets taken in and brought to Stark Tower,”

“That’s all on you. I was going to set him up in a hotel somewhere, see if anything here helped trigger memories. Then you barged in and decided he had to stay here, be monitored.”

“ _Anyway_ , man appears, gets taken in by the Avengers and is the perfect mole to funnel out information.”

Bucky sighed and carried on with his circuit - he’d need to speak with Natasha or Clint to find out what was going on, but that could wait until he’d had some rest. Circuit completed, he headed down to his room, locking the door securely behind him before settling down to try and get some sleep.

*

Hardly any time seemed to have passed when Bucky stirred, but he did feel marginally more rested. Quickly he went through his morning routine, stretching out the vague ache in his spine from the weight of his arm as he made his way along to the common area, only to stop when he realized he could hear bickering echoing along the corridor. Reluctant to deal with such things before coffee, even though he was curious why they were still arguing, Bucky made his way down to the coffee shop in the lobby. Distracted by thoughts of the past he didn’t really watch where he was going, until he was jarred back into full attention by a rush of warmth down his leg.

“Can’t you watch where you’re going? Oh jeez, did it spill on you, you alright?”

Bucky looked up into concerned blue eyes, and a face so similar he had to bite his tongue to stop himself calling the guy Steve. It couldn’t be Steve, Steve was gone. Lost.

“It’s fine,” He said with a short laugh, shaking his leg, discreetly studying the guy. “I’m sorry, wasn’t paying attention, haven’t had any coffee yet and I’ve already cost you yours. Will you let me get you another? You can apologize more if you wanna.” The guy blushed slightly, and nodded.

“If you must. Large Americano with room for milk please. I’ll find a table and grab you some napkins.”

The guy turned gracefully, and Bucky swallowed down a sigh, joining the line for the counter. It might just be a coincidence, time messing with his mind, but there could be no harm in checking the guy out.

The line moved quickly, and soon he had the drinks headed over to the guy, who had his gaze focused on the book in his lap, a pile of napkins beside him. Bucky cleared his throat to catch his attention, before gently sitting the coffee beside him, putting his own safely out of reach and grabbing some of the napkins to dab at his trousers.

“Are you new around here? Haven’t seen you before,” he said, as the guy sipped at his coffee, a smile spreading across his face at the taste.

“I just got here. Tony dragged Bruce and I from Scotland yesterday. Pepper offered me a job yesterday.” He shrugged, a wry smile on his face. “How about you, been around here long? I’ve been warned that it can get kinda exciting?”

Bucky smirked. “Exciting is one word for it, yeah. I’m Jim, I work in Logistics. Stark hired me to check out some things here, so I’ll be around for a little while. First time I’ve been settled somewhere for a long time.”

The reactions of this guy were so like Steve’s it was almost bittersweet, to be taunted with such things after so long. When he was finally trying to move forward, move past the things that had happened to him. The guy blushed again, the color highlighting his cheekbones.

“I don’t know where my manners have gone. I’m Arthur. Not sure how long I’m going to be around for - depends what work I can find after this mural I suppose.” He looked down at his book, and shifted it around cautiously. Bucky’s phone started to alert at that moment, demanding his attention for SHIELD business. He watched Arthur’s face fall, sorrow washing briefly over his features.

“The joy of work,” Bucky said with a sigh. “Hey, if I’m free tomorrow want to check out some of the local eateries, get to know some of the good ones? Folks keep recommending 'em to me, would be nice to get some other opinions on them, and would help you get to know the area some.”

“That’d be great, thanks. I’ll probably be down here most of the day, working on some studies. But I’d better let you get going to deal with that, don’t want anyone to come yell at you just ‘cos you were dumb enough to get coffee spilled on ya.” Bucky stood up, sketching a salute.

“See you tomorrow,” Bucky called as he walked off to the elevator, stubbornly not looking back. Once inside the anonymity of the elevator he checked his phone, and found a notice from the medical department.

“JARVIS? Can you take me down to the garage. If the others ask I’ve been pulled in for a debrief.”

***

Steve shifted uneasily as the guy walked off to the elevator, waiting until he was gone before grabbing pencils and quickly sketching out his face. Roughly he shaded it, fleshing it out into a more realistic form. He glanced up sharply at the sound of breaking glass, relaxing slightly at the babbled apologies from the customers before almost dropping his sketchpad in shock. Bucky’s face staring back at him from the page.

It must have been the sarcastic salute, the dark shade of his hair. The longing for a lifelong friend who'd been gone for mere weeks.

With shaking fingers he tore out the page and carefully folded it, placing it in the pocket at the back of the book. Taking a deep breath he quickly sketched out the lobby, marking the positions of the lights and made a mental note to verify how the light flooded the area through the vast windows. Hesitantly he pulled out the phone he'd been given, and followed this directions left with it to send a message to JARVIS.

_Jarvis?_

_Yes Mr Beauchamp, can I be of some assistance?_

_Could you give me the directions to a nearby art shop, I'd like to have a look at the materials I could use for the mural. Get a feel for them._

_Of course, Sir. If you’d like I can use the location facilities in your phone to navigate you, and demonstrate the maps function to you when you return to the Tower. Ms Potts also asked me to remind you that you are free to charge what you wish to the black card waiting for you at reception._

_Lead away please, JARVIS._

The thought of location devices within his belongings was unsettling, but knowing about them was helpful. If he found a spot where he could conceal his bag for a while then he'd be able to meander more freely. Given the argument he'd overheard between Bruce and Tony this morning, it seemed likely that he'd need some form of disguise as well, limit his ability to be tracked.

The changes in the city were vast, the overhead lines gone without a trace, almost no familiar names left on the storefronts. Idly he followed where JARVIS led, noting locations that might be worth investigating later, bars and shops and clubs. The art shop threw him for a moment but the eager assistant, hair a bright kaleidoscope of color, discussed his needs and gave good advice on what products would work within the space. She also ran him through the differences in the paints, changes he wasn’t aware were possible. He made a list of everything, made notes to check if there was anything planned to protect the mural. He left with a variety of supplies and a new sketchpad to test out ideas in a different medium, get a sense of things in a different texture.

He picked food up on the way back to the Tower, wanting to avoid any further discussion on the topic of testing his blood. He had been through similar repeated arguments before, and had no wish to repeat them again. To feel like he had to fight for his own life rather than being an object, a curiosity.

Safely hidden in his rooms, he listened carefully to JARVIS’ explanations on the way the map function on the phone worked, before idly sketching as several short films on the use of other aspects of his phone were played for him. He purposefully kept his hands clumsy as he followed the directions - if there were devices in his phone to track him, there were likely more in his rooms here for general observation. He quashed his unease at the potential surveillance and thanked JARVIS, heading for the shower to re-balance himself, hoping that any tracking information in there would be much more limited.

That he had some privacy here. That this wasn’t an elaborate ruse of a lab.

He drifted through the evening, sketching in various areas of his apartment, moving and starting over when the emotions grew too strong. Weariness began to press upon him the more he tried to work, as he tried to push away the memories and dreams that kept appearing on his paper instead of the ideas he was hoping to transfer. Sighing deeply he carefully focused on packing away the pencils and took the notebook with him through to his room, placing it under his pillow.

Tomorrow he’d go find a way to hide incriminating artwork in plain sight. See if he could find a way to ground himself away from surveillance, let off some steam. The short glimpses of news and headlines he’d seen today had made it clear that wars hadn’t stopped, that there would still be those that would want to use him, make more people like him that they could control. He couldn’t let that happen. He’d need to find a way to take edges off without being noticed, becoming studied.

He punched his pillow with a sigh and turned over. Perhaps with some sleep, things would look better.

***

Returning to the Tower a couple of days later, only the thought of possibly seeing Arthur again brightened Bucky’s mood. After the first lot of results and his unimpressed reaction he’d had to endure yet more tests. The doctors had been thorough, but could see no alterations in his scans or discussions to previous checkups. If he was seeing things in the Tower then it was his own mind playing tricks on him, not something that had been implanted, some kind of ticking timebomb.

At the same time though he felt that they were wrong. It was too much for it to simply be his mind wandering back to the past, there was no reason for him to be seeing Steve here. He’d spent time in New York before this and nothing had happened. Even when he was spending his days wishing Steve was still here and being glad that he wasn’t Bucky hadn’t been seeing things.

There was no real change in his life to cause him to be thinking of the past. He’d have to keep an eye on it, maybe ask Natasha to provide an outside opinion of his behaviours in case anything was shifting. The doctors could be wrong. Everyone could always be wrong.

Silently he drifted through the floors, eventually settling in the nook Natasha and Clint favoured. He knew they’d meet him here soon, and he wanted their impressions of Arthur. He suspected that they’d been to collect him, to take a judgement of him before he even entered the Tower. Their history and training would have made sure of that, even if he seemed like a nobody.

After all, the three of them were experts at seeming to be harmless.

He didn’t have to wait long before a cup was sat in front of him, Natasha sliding into the seat beside him, Clint setting down his drink before heading over to the kitchen and starting to gather snacks.

“I hadn’t heard of any missions going that required you. What’s SHIELD got you doing?” Natasha murmured, hiding her voice behind Clint’s clattering around the kitchen.

“It’s just--I got rattled recently. Thought I’d seen something that’s been gone for decades. So I went for a checkup,” Bucky said. “Could you keep an eye on me? They cleared me, said I’m fine but … I’d trust backup on this one. Just in case.”

She met his eyes for a long moment, nodding solemnly as Clint sat a tray of snacks down before them.

“I assume you’re not here just for the pleasure of our company?”

“Don’t you miss my pretty face when I’m not here?” Bucky retorted, fluttering his eyelashes and catching the peanut thrown at him with a smile. “I was wondering what your impression of this Arthur guy is. Been catching snippets of Tony ranting about him, Bruce defending him. But the guy seems to be avoiding everyone from what I’ve seen.”

“He’s unpredictable. Definitely has military experience - he finds defensible positions and maintains awareness pretty much constantly. A couple of times I saw him leave an area just before Tony arrived, before you could even hear him coming. He just dropped what he was doing and left.” Clint rolled his glass between his hands for a moment. “He’s uncomfortable with Tony, keeps pushing for autonomy. Tony just wants to help, and the guy is well within his rights to refuse, but it seems odd. He’s almost definitely hiding something.”

“The fact that Tony can’t seem to get a trace on him is unusual as well. If you prefer I can send out a quiet inquiry, check SHIELD. See if he’s been redacted for some reason. Although if he had he should have been picked up by now.” Natasha continued, drawing patterns with the condensation from her glass.

“They like to know where their assets are, don’t they,” Bucky murmured. 

“He seemed a little lost when I spoke with him. Like he could do with a friend.” Bucky met Natasha’s eyes and smiled bitterly. “Put out feelers, see what comes in. I’m going to try and get to know him, will let you know if he lets anything slip. But if he is just a normal guy then he needs a friend right now.”

“It’s hard to live a lie with anyone you care for. If you start to feel something for him, if our feelers come back with a normal guy then you’ll have to let him know at some point before it becomes serious. This life we lead, it doesn’t work well with secrets.”

“It’s not that way.” Bucky protested, ignoring the look Natasha gave him. “I just feel like he needs a friend. And I could do with widening my own network some now I’m more settled again. It’s not good to only be friends with the people you work with. Sometimes you need someone outside of that to vent to.”

They both looked at him dubiously before draining their drinks and clearing up.

“Be careful James. Don’t get too close before you’re ready.”

He rolled his eyes at her as he left, smiling, knowing it was her way of showing that she cared. He’d be fine. Arthur just needed a friend, that was all.

***

Now that Steve had supplies around, concepts for the mural began to take shape in his mind. He spent the next few days avoiding the Tower residents where he could - eating in the coffee shop or out in town. He ate with Jim once or twice, swapping numbers to make it easier to arrange things. The likeness to Bucky hurt, but it helped. Made it easier to start to grieve properly, even if he couldn’t yet bear to try and find out what had happened to the rest of the Commandos. When he failed to avoid the others it tended to end up with increasingly vicious arguments over why he refused to allow his blood to be taken. Sometimes with taunts that led the others to separate them. It was easier to avoid everyone where possible.

During the day he fleshed out various concepts for his portfolio, occasionally exploring the city and the way the Tower stood out in skyline. Most evenings were spent hiding his bag in a variety of busy clubs and bars before donning simple disguises and being more of himself for a while. He began gathering money through hustling pool and various games and fights, having access to his own cash easing his mind. It was fair enough to have access to funds from others but he’d lived through the depression, the banks today didn’t seem to have changed much. If the situation changed it was better to have a backup plan. 

Slowly he began to get to know the streets and neighbourhoods again. Starting to relax into life here somewhat, even though there was a niggling worry at the back of his mind of what was happening … of what had happened to Peggy and the others without him.

He’d found a cookbook in a second-hand shop on the Bowery, pages yellowing, edges torn, but it was still the same cookbook that his mother had left him when she died. Now he carefully slotted sketches between the pages, hiding them from curious eyes and shelved it on the sparse shelf in his kitchen.

“Mr Beauchamp, Miss Potts would like your presence for brunch in her office, if you’re free,” JARVIS said.

“Sure, tell her I’ll be on my way,” Steve said.

He’d known that the relative anonymity he’d been enjoying amongst the other residents of the city would be limited, and he could only hope that Pepper wished to discuss the mural rather than persuade him around to Tony’s point of view.

He gathered together his notes and sketches, smiling at the one of Tony presenting technology to the crowd the same way Howard had once presented his incomplete flying car. Taking a calming breath he made his way to the location JARVIS had told him of, hoping that he wouldn’t have to do something to get away.

“Arthur,” Pepper said, greeting him warmly. “It’s good to see you. How are you settling in, are you having any luck in remembering anything?”

“The Tower is … nice,” he said, shrugging. “It just feels a bit like a hotel. Not quite like home. New York feels familiar, but nothing is really coming back to me. Not yet anyway. Maybe I just need to give it more time.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I’m also sorry to hear that Tony has been so aggressive in his behaviour towards you. He has been reminded how normal people behave and informed that if he wishes to continue living peacefully he is to stop harassing you. JARVIS is on your side and willing to remind him should he continue to be obstinate. I’m sorry that I wasn’t aware he was doing this sooner, and I apologize if he has made you uncomfortable here,” she smiled gently and offered him a plate covered in muffins and pastries. 

“I have a contract prepared now that I’d like you to look over before signing. Please, take your time with it. Have you been having much luck coming up with ideas?”

“I have a partial portfolio prepared,” Steve replied, “We should be able to work through some of them and come up with something you both like.”

They leafed through the portfolio, making notes on what Pepper liked and disliked. Some pieces had potential as small artworks while others worked better as designs for letterheads. The mock-up of Tony in Howard’s dashing thirties style made Pepper go still for a moment before she burst into giggles.

“Is there any chance that you could paint that for me? I’d love to display it in the office here. It really shows the similarities between them. How did you find out about Howard’s car plans? It’s not very well known since we became so heavily involved in the military side of things, during the war.”

“I was just looking up the history of the building, of the company,” he lied, smiling as he remembered the excitement of the girls, the grin on Bucky’s face as the car lifted off the stage. “I must have just hit the right combination for the search, and then the articles about Tony’s robots caught my eye. I didn’t think it would be right for the lobby, but I thought it might put a smile on someone’s face.”

Pepper looked down at the picture again, stroking Tony’s face with a sad smile.

“I don’t think the two of them saw eye to eye that often. Little things Tony has let slip made me think that he was never all that certain that Howard believed in him. But then a few years back I found some of the family photo albums, and the way that Howard looks at Tony isn’t that of a man who didn’t believe in his son.” She sighed and carefully covered up the sketch, moving on to the next. “Maybe the picture would help Tony see that there was another side to his father before the war changed him.”

“That’s what war does, isn’t it. Changes people. Breaks everything.” Steve clenched his fist hard under the desk, letting the sting of his nails breaking the skin ground him slightly. Reminded himself to be careful. “Sorry, I just - I don’t know. It feels like a sore subject. Could I leave the rest with you to look through at your leisure, I’m afraid I’m not feeling well. Just take some notes on what you like, I’ll look through them later.”

“Of course, Arthur. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to trigger anything for you. I’ll let JARVIS know to give you some peace, I hope you feel better soon,” Pepper said apologetically.

“It’s fine. I think I just need some space, thank you.” He nodded to her gratefully, quickly grabbing his bag and notes. “Just let me know when you’re free to discuss your notes. Take a few days, I have some things I can start on for now.”

He headed quickly back to the space he still felt he didn’t deserve and locked the doors behind him. Curling up in the bathroom he let the pain of being here where he didn’t belong wash over him again. What had his disappearance done? Was it all his fault that Howard could have changed so much, neglected his own son? Distantly, he pondered looking up the rest of them, of seeing what else had occurred but couldn’t face it. Tears rolled down his cheeks at the thought of what might have happened, what lies might have been told.

Rising stiffly, feeling the press of time and change upon him, he started the shower. He stayed in barely long enough to freshen up and disguise the storm of emotion that had wracked him moments earlier. Exhausted, he stumbled through to the bed and collapsed on top of the covers, allowing sleep to drag him away.


	3. Chapter 3

The room they left him sitting in, chained to the chair, smelled as damp and musty as the rest of the basement. Part of him was glad, the scent helped to differentiate further from the lab they’d kept him in, antiseptic and cold. Idly he wondered how long he’d been here already - the ache in his head had ceased a long time ago, but these days that meant nothing. Down here in the dark emptiness there was no real way of telling day from night, hour from hour. The Asset, no, _Bucky_ , pushed down the urge to break the chains and leave, there was nowhere to go if he did. 

Memories were still fuzzy and unreliable, layered and overlapping in such a way that he couldn’t tell truth from lies.

A brunette in a smart blue suit entered the room and sat opposite him, placing a stack of files in front of herself. When the door opened again she turned and the new person left without a sound. He resisted looking up at her, not wanting the dual strands of thoughts to grate through his skull once more.

“How would you prefer to be addressed?” She asked in a crisp English accent. He continued to stare the chains, studying how they bound him to the table, ignoring the question. Several minutes passed before she sighed and opened one of the files in front of her.

“To the best of your knowledge, whilst you were -- engaged in your former role were you aware of any other operatives? Particularly any as strong as you?” The question made him glance at her briefly before staring at the ceiling.

“They had me train girls who were being -- adapted. There -- there was no one else there that matched me.” He said eventually, voice rusty from disuse. “I was tested and used for training in various locations, and each time sparred with multiple agents.”

“Was there ever to your knowledge any one else kept in the same manner you were? Did you ever hear discussion of acquisition of any assets from Britain?”

“I was to be their greatest achievement they said. Their fist. They did not speak of any others within my range of hearing.” He forced himself to meet her eyes, programming and memories warring within him. “Cut to the chase Carter, what is it you really want to know?”

She shuffled the files before her for a moment, before glancing towards the door and pulling out two pages.

“The public’s belief that Captain Rogers went down with the Valkyrie shortly before the end of the war is inaccurate. He gave coordinates before the radio cut out, and was recovered two days later. He recuperated briefly in New York before escaping to England in an attempt to rejoin the war.”

She paused, and fiddled with a chain that hung around her neck, anything on it currently hidden under her shirt.

“He vanished some weeks later during a minor operation in Scotland,” she continued, the tremble in her voice scarcely noticeable. “No trace has been found of him since, or any evidence of coercion prior to his disappearance.”

The blood drained from his face and the chains binding him to the table creaked as he tensed.

“You’re lying. You’re doing the same thing they did, trying to break me down so you can rewrite me!”

“Sergeant Barnes,” she snapped, standing up and yanking the chain out of her shirt. “Believe me I wish it were not so but it is the truth. He was on a mission with me, told me he was coming back and didn’t return! All I have left of him right now is a sketchbook and the bloody ring he picked out for me as part of our cover.”

Shocked he met her gaze fully and for once the duality of his thoughts shuddered and broke. The ring dangling on the chain gripped in a shaking hand looked almost exactly like Sarah Rogers’ had. The ring she’d refused to part with, no matter how bad things were. And none of the rest of these people could have known that.

“I’m sorry Peggy,” he murmured, gently. “I don’t know anything specific, but I’ll help as much as I can to cut off the heads and fire the stumps. So long as your people are happy I ain’t about to flip on ya.”

*

Bucky woke slowly, head still drifting through memories of adjusting back to being him, not the Asset. It had been a while since he’d thought of that time - the disparity between elements of his life, his unease amongst strangers and acquaintance alike. Maybe it was the way that Arthur had shied away from the group last night, despite the repeated invites over the last week, shades of his own adjustment echoing through the years.

He was beginning to get a concerned about Arthur. He knew that he had rooms in the Tower, had to resist the urge to go check on him there more than once already. If he hadn’t bumped into him in the coffee shop again, asking casually for his number to keep track of him, he wouldn’t have known he was still here. It wasn’t ideal for anyone to live so isolated, and with few memories it was even worse.

He could vaguely recall how bad it had been when he was readjusting from being the blank slate of the Asset, but at least he had some people around to chase after him and make sure he wasn’t making himself worse. He checked the logs with JARVIS and saw that Arthur was spending most days wandering the city, spending some evenings in the clubs and bars around the Tower. Probably trying to see if the city brought anything back to him.

Bucky was relieved to see more signs of Arthur emerging just before Jane and Darcy returned from their conference circuit, if any of the residents would be able to draw him out further it would be them. He started to invite Arthur out more - asking him to try diners and restaurants with him, inviting him to come dancing, hoping to get to know him past the shades of his Steve that he kept seeing. SHIELD was still adamant that nothing had changed, he stopped asking in case they just slipped him away to some prison somewhere, removed him before he caused problems. He still worried at the frequency with which his thoughts returned to the past. Maybe it was just the vague similarities of Arthur to Steve, and that he knew in part what it was not to know anything much about himself, to be guessing at likes and dislikes.

He shook himself away from the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him, to drag him back down into the fear of hurting others against his wishes. He needed to spar, run a training simulation, something, prove to himself that he was still in control of his actions. 

***

Steve left the room quickly but cautiously, waving away the calls to stay and join them, that he was more than welcome to. Part of him wanted to stay, but every time he was with the group he could feel eyes on him, their scrutiny making him nervous. He knew that any slips in behaviour, any unexpected reactions would be noted and tracked. Thus far they all seemed to be pleasant people, but the risk of being found out and locked in a lab was too great to his mind. Hopefully it was just coming off as being uncomfortable in social situations rather than direct avoidance of them, that might court yet more suspicion.

He sat down in his room with a sigh and stared at the ceiling, wishing things were different. Wishing he could still trust in people like he used to.

“JARVIS,” he called softly, hoping. “What are they watching tonight?”

“They are comparing the portrayal of war in film through the genres of fantasy, propaganda and realism. Would you like for me to stream it here for you, allow you to join in from here?” 

He shook his head, before considering the options further.

“Would it be possible to watch some of the propaganda ones, JARVIS? Or generally WW2 war films?” The silence from JARVIS seemed approving and moments later what Steve had thought was a mirror opposite the couch lit up.

“I took the liberty of queuing up several highly rated films for you that Sir had amongst his collection, some of which they might get around to tonight should you wish to discuss them with the others at a later date. Simply call out if you wish me to pause or skip a movie.”

“Thank you, JARVIS, please start whenever you’re ready.”

He grabbed a drink and his notepad before settling down, the lights dimming as he did so. For a moment he wished for the sounds of an audience around him, the newsreel and cartoons before the main feature. So much had changed it seemed, too much to easily catch up on. He’d make an attempt at knowing more references, but given that asking JARVIS would reveal his viewing habits it would reveal far more than he wanted.

He let his awareness of the room around him drift, letting himself settle into more familiar settings. The sanitized normality of war for the folks back home, far cleaner than the reality. He rode the sense of home, of nostalgia until the second feature began and he found himself watching the Howlies storm across the screen. His pen drifted across the page almost automatically as he kept his eyes fixed to the screen, memories washing over him like the sea over the shore.

The way the crew had sent them back to the showers three times before calling them clean enough as the day was wasting away. The attack that they’d stumbled into meaning the footage of them all together would have to do - Germans to fight, no time to reshoot with Gabe and Morita relegated to the fringes or back of the group as far out of sight as they could place them.

Part of him ached fiercely with the knowledge that he’d unwittingly abandoned them, that he wasn’t spending more time researching. That he was being pulled slowly into a life, a purpose here. The thought of knowing everything that happened to them all, perhaps learning secrets that they’d never wanted revealed was terrifying in it’s own way. If he found a way back, how could he keep the knowledge of such things from them.

Would he even be believed if he did tell them? He might be treated as a lunatic, locked into a lab to be tested for the rest of his days. They wouldn’t allow him to be sent to an Asylum, not with the serum running through his veins.

Carefully keeping his eyes on the screen he closed his notebook without looking, and curled up as small as he could. He wished he knew what had caused him to end up in this time, this place, and if there was any way that he could fix it. Huddled in a small ball he watched the past play on before him, fears and worries churning through his mind until sleep finally took their place.

***

“Draw me like one of your french girls.” The brunette said as she dropped into the chair opposite him. “Please? I’ll buy you a coffee.”

“My coffee gets paid for by Pepper. Perk of the position.”

“And what position would that be?”

“Thorn in Tony Stark’s side - refusing to ‘be reasonable’. I’m also in charge of entertaining Pepper.” He smiled at her as she burst into laughing, offering his hand when she calmed down. “Hi, I’m Arthur. Apparently my actual role is make Pepper happy with art.”

“Darcy. Chief Science Wrangler and taser of Gods.” She shook his hand and eyed him curiously. “Are you the guy Tony won’t stop ranting about whenever he has a chance.”

“Yeah,” he grimaced, and rubbed his head. “I woke up with no memory in Scotland, and Bruce took pity on me. Apparently it’s ‘impossible and implausible’ that someone my age should have no footprint online. Side tangents include various conspiracy theories and that no one who looks like me should have no one looking for me.”

“That blows. Have you remembered much? Anything that might help? Tried music and film to see if that triggers anything?”

“I remembered art, and New York - that’s all so far. Keep getting invited to stay for movie night but I feel like a specimen; like they’re waiting to observe me remembering. I’d like to try maybe, just not in that environment. And there’s so much out there it’s hard to tell where to start.”

“If you’re willing, I can maybe help you out. No pressure, I’ll work in the corner on stuff and let you watch in your own way. I can make music playlists you can have on while you’re doing something else as well. My boss’ boyfriend is an alien space Prince and I want to get him up to speed on our culture. So if you didn’t mind we could genre hop through top films from the last few decades while I test for bad vibes and if we’re lucky you might remember something. And if you don’t you’ll have an idea of what genres of film and music you like.”

He nodded along, the eagerness she portrayed reminding him of Bucky dragging him off along to science fairs and films. The answering smile on her face made his heart ache a moment for the way Bucky would smile when he agreed to go out dancing, even if his date always ended up leaving him a wallflower. Jim’s reactions when he agreed to try a new restaurant or food truck did the same, and gradually the ache was lessening, the memory becoming fond rather than painful.(made him remember as well, and gradually the memory was losing its sting.)

“When do you want to start then? I mostly sit down here and sketch, but I have enough reference material now I can work almost anywhere.”

Darcy pulled out her phone in response and made grabby motions until he handed his over.

“I’ll check with Jane and JARVIS - see if there’s a space we can use and if there’s any vital need for me in the lab the next few days.” She tossed his phone back across, screen showing a new contact. “I’ll message you tomorrow when I know the lay of the land. Do you have any preference for what to start with - work back from the modern or start with some of the earlier stuff?”

Steve thought back to seeing Snow White, to his amazement at the level of detail they managed to portray.

“Maybe something animated, work outwards from there? Could that work?”

“Sounds great! Will see what I can look up, it’ll be easier to start there while I build up a list of others. I’ll be in touch.”

He waved as she bustled off, dodging around people as she focussed on her phone. He felt lighter, an ache he’d hardly been aware of easing as he realized he had a potential new friend, one that didn’t seem like she wanted to analyse him. Spending the occasional evening and mealtime with Jim was nice, but he wasn’t always around, he had his own life. And the friends that sometimes came with him to the bar, Clint and Natasha he thought, occasionally looked at him a little too long. Watched his reactions a little too closely to let him relax fully. Sure, they seemed nice enough, but like him they were hiding something, rarely let their guard fully drop around him.

Before the end of the day he had an array of messages from Darcy, small cartoons attached to each one. She’d set up a space for use tomorrow, would have a music player for him there so long as he promised to keep it away from Tony. It seemed like he’d be getting a crash course in music and history then, hopefully it would help him feel more at ease here.

***

Steve glared at the mural, annoyed with the way that it wouldn’t quite take the shape he wanted it to. He continued to try for a few more minutes before giving up and burying his head in his hands. Better to give up now, have a break and return to it tomorrow with fresh eyes - if he pushed on now he’d only have more to correct.

Sighing softly, he descended the ladder and headed for the washrooms he used to clean up. The feeling of being watched was slowly becoming more bearable the more he worked down here in the lobby - curious coffee drinkers observing the progress on the walls. He welcomed that level of scrutiny, more focused on the art than him. He stifled the urge to run and hide when he felt pinned by an observer as he crossed the hallway, locking the washroom door behind him and scrubbing the color from his skin. Part of him wishing that if he scrubbed hard enough maybe then he’d be him again, not this eye-catching greek statue of a man come to life.

The continued flow of water caught his eye and he pondered it a moment, the remnants of paint tinting the sink and the water greyish blue filling the world around him --

He turned the taps off and dried his hands for longer than necessary, letting the noise and heat pull him further away from the memories. Admitting to himself he was just hiding he took a deep breath and headed back out, meaning to finish tidying and settle down to more sketches. See if the fault lay in him or the mural itself. Or in his complete avoidance of what he'd missed, putting of trying to get back to where he ought to be.

An alarm started blaring somewhere in the building, people all over the lobby looking up and starting to gather their belongings. Steve stared blankly for a moment, uncertain - it didn’t sound like the fire alarm, was more shrill, more strident.

As quickly as it started the alarm stopped, everyone slumping back into their seats and carrying on with what they had been doing. He watched for a moment longer, seeing if there was going to be an announcement, any kind of confirmation of it being a false alarm.

When nothing else happened, everyone carrying on as if nothing had happened at all, Steve quickly packed up his sketchbooks and headed out into the city. He wouldn’t be able to concentrate the rest of the day if he stayed here, might as well try his luck out there.

Steve drifted through the city, watching the mass of humanity pass him by. Colors and hairstyles occasionally caught his eye, and he eventually settled at a cafe with a good view of the street, content to pass some time people watching. Gradually he filled several pages and browsed through them while waiting for a refill on his drink, glad it was empty when he realized that his sketchbook had images of the past interspersed with everything else. Past and present merging on the page.

Unsettled he paid up and headed for the Public Library, absently watching a red and gold figure dash through the sky. For everything that seemed familiar, there was always something else around to remind him that he wasn’t in Kansas anymore, he was in Oz with all it’s wonders.

He had to start trying to find out about what could have brought him here, how he might be able to return. And even though it would hurt, he might have to start looking into what had happened to his friends since he had found himself here. He had to see if there was a way back, if there was any information he might be able to gather here that could help them, if he could maybe point them in the direction of those that would take advantage of the celebrations to slink away and start rebuilding.

Even if he found nothing today, it would at least be a step in the right direction. He wouldn’t just be ignoring the problem to mess around and do art. The longer he stayed here, the greater the risk that he would be found out. Eventually he’d slip up and someone would notice, would connect the dots.

He just had to hope that he’d figure out how to get back home before that happened.

***

Steve got on well with Darcy - something that didn’t surprise him as much when he realized that they were basically the same age. Part of him could see in her a chance to remake himself, to craft a persona to fit in this new world. Most of the clothing he was used to was even available again, as long as he didn’t mind being called a hipster.

She’d stayed true to her word while they watched movies as well, often working away on her computer as the film showed on the wall. After a day or two he began to bring his sketchbook along and let his focus switch between them depending on what caught his eye. Occasionally they’d chat about the film after, what details of the era had been left in the film and which held a more timeless quality. Sometimes Jim, Jane or Thor drifted in as they were watching, but mostly they were left alone to their marathons.

The occasional person slipping in and out during gradually allowed Steve to relax a little more around the Tower, although he still stifled some of his reactions. There was a constant sense of being observed when anyone other than Darcy and Jim were around - partly he admired their caution but it was an unnerving situation to live his life this way.

Sometimes when Steve was hanging out with Jim he’d catch sight of him from the corner of his eye, or catch an expression on his face, and his mind would scream at him with the loss of Bucky. Seconds later the sensation would pass, and he’d bury the feeling to examine it further later. Remind himself that Bucky was gone.

Sometimes he sensed Jim taking quick, disbelieving glances at him too, as if he couldn’t understand how Steve was here, with him. He never mentioned anything, never asked any questions. Never harassed him about how he’d managed to end up here - no memories, no one looking for him and with an admittedly cushy job.

When he slunk out at night to chase away his nightmares and burn off some of his endless energy he made certain to rotate locations and disguises. Eventually he would need a different plan, maybe he might even be able to tell them about himself. But until he knew more of them he couldn’t risk it. He’d spent months on the bond circuit to save himself becoming nothing but another specimen, and having seen how some of today’s labs operated he’d rather find a way to die than become a lab rat.

***

One Saturday Darcy declared that they’d have a day long marathon of films. A gleeful Clint was handed Nerf weaponry and told to shoot any mischief makers (“That means keep quiet Tony. Discussions come at the _end_ not the middle. Don’t like the rules, don’t stay.”)

The worlds of the films wrapped around Steve, and he barely noticed the presence of the others in the room, comforted by the fact Clint had permission to shoot mischief makers. Reassured by the steady warm presence of Jim at his side. He topped up their drinks during the discussion following _The Matrix_ , but the next film with the people who could ‘jump’ themselves between locations made hairs rise up on his arms, and left Thor looking confused by the end.

“Are such abilities common on Midgard or is this another example of your fantasy?”

Tony looked up in surprise, quickly focussing on the issue.

“There might be people with such abilities now, but no one knows of them. When they made this film I’d have said a definite no, but strange things have been happening since you appeared? Is that kind of thing possible for you guys?”

“There are some who may be able to do similar things, but they require a focus to aid them in their endeavour. The Bifrost is one example of such. My mother is capable of many such magics as we call them, although travel is not one of her specialties. It takes a great deal of study to craft your focal object, although once you have it such tasks become much simpler.”

“You speak of crafted objects Thor, what form do they take? Could there be any left here, from previous visits of your people?”

The silence following Bruce’s question made Steve uneasy but he forced himself to remain still, remain steady. React as the others do. Pretend that he’s back on stage, following a role. He fiddled with his pencils, sketching quick caricatures of the others as they sat watching Thor waiting for his response.

“Some things have been left that should not have been forgotten. Or hidden here by those who should have known better, given the danger those objects could cause to the people of Midgard.” Thor said eventually, nodding to the others. “Who knows what else was left by those of us who settled here for a short time. There has been so much conflict, so much time has passed that only those who have a skill in locating objects might be able to find them all.”

“Are you able to describe any of the potential objects that might have been left? If there is a chance that there are more things here we’ll need to keep an eye out, or find someone who can bind them if not remove them?” Tony asked, already pulling up screens around him, text moving too quickly to discern what they read.

“I can attempt to do so. But I know little of these magics, that was not where my skills have lead me. Given the passage of time, the objects may not work as they should - the powers behind them have always been fickle, worked to their own agenda. For reasons only they understood. If there are any still remaining in this realm, someone with far greater skill than I would be required to ascertain how they work now.” Thor sighed and gazed at the floor for a moment. “I know my realm is far beyond yours in various aspects, but it was never our intention to knowingly leave items that could cause harm to others. I regret that that seems to be our legacy here.”

As the room descended into the chaos of Tony throwing ideas around the room to have them rebuffed by the others Steve shifted uneasily. Jim glanced at him a moment, patting his shoulder comfortingly before turning back to the discussion, throwing further ideas in. Standing carefully Steve met Thor’s eye and nodded towards the kitchen counter. 

He had his glass rinsed and in the dishwasher by the time Thor managed to make it across the room. Steve smiled at him, flinching when the debating across the room became more heated.

“I think sometimes the others forget how hard it must be hard to be here, when so much is different to what you know,” Steve said quietly. “If anyone else here gets that I do. So if you’d ever like to sit down and talk then I’m here for you. I can try and sketch things out for you as well if it’d help. Your home sounds like a fascinating place.”

Thor smiled sadly. “It is a beautiful place, and part of me wishes that I were able to take you there. That we might be able to help the malady that keeps your knowledge of your own self from you. It would be good to speak of my home to someone who would really appreciate it’s beauty.” Steve nodded, flinching at the increase in volume from the other room.

“I think I need to go get some space to myself for a bit. Get some space. Could you let the others know if they ask where I am?”

At Thor’s nod, he slipped slowly back to his room, securing the door behind him before pulling down the cookbook and looking through his sketches.

His heart ached as he flipped through the pages, the camaraderie of the war, the hopes and dreams of youth. He gently traced the curve of Peggy’s cheek with one finger, sighing softly. He cared for her, but slowly was coming to realize that although he’d like to be back there, that he wouldn’t necessarily have to be back there with her. Even if he hadn’t ended up here he wasn’t sure that they’d have worked out long term. They would have both tried had they married, of course they would have, but would they have been happy? Gently he closed the book and tucked it back into the shelf amongst the others he’d picked up to disguise it.

He curled onto the bed, selecting one of the calming playlists Darcy had made for him and pondered the situation. If Thor chose to speak with him he might be able to learn more about what had brought him here, about how he might return. But he would have to be careful. And would it even be worth trying if the objects had changed in the centuries since they were last used? Could he trust their power? Was he better off carving a nook for himself here, making a life away from the war? Having a proper artist’s job like he’d hoped for once?

He shook his head gently and focused on the music. Unless Thor spoke with him there was no point worrying about things he didn’t have the power to change. Until then, he would have to carry on as he was - try and fit in as best he could.

***

Over the next few days Thor appeared frequently when Steve and Darcy met up for films. He sometimes appeared stressed when he arrived, but sat quietly with them to watch, or to listen as he read his own books. Sometimes Darcy was called away to help Jane in the lab, leaving a note for Steve of what to watch next, or a reminder of which series followed the one they had started.

Thor was surprisingly easy to get along with without the buffer of Darcy or Jane. Occasionally Steve sensed that he was being studied, but it was less intensive than he was used to from the others here. They thought they were being subtle but the heavy weight of their eyes burned on his skin.

Sometimes they sat, music playing in the background while Thor spoke of his home, his family and Steve sketched away. It all seemed fantastical to him, reminded him of the days when he and Bucky sat and read the Hobbit. The way visions of Rivendell had filled his mind and made his fingers itch, but now he could fill the pages and get feedback on where he’d gone amiss.

Occasionally he drew Thor into conversation about certain aspects of his society, attempting to draw out more information that might be helpful. The items that his people used to travel between locations sounded similar, gave him hints to what to look out for. He made an elaborate sketch of the Bifrost engine, the largest of their transports, and made sure to check all the details with Thor. It would make a beautiful painting, and Steve was certain that Jane would appreciate it.

“In some ways I wish my people had been wiser. Or at the least more considerate. The harm we have brought to this world through our misadventures is great, and I dread to think of what we may have caused elsewhere,” Thor sighed heavily and gazed out the window at the skyline. “I worry that we may have left other objects here. Over time the magic powering many items shifts, grows. They gain their own consciousness, make their own decisions. On Asgard itself we can deal with this: set them free, grant them other tasks. But for anything left here, left alone for centuries I worry what they may have become. What they may do.”

Steve worried his lip between his teeth a moment, finishing a piece of difficult shading before turning his attention to Thor.

“If someone did find one of these objects, how likely is it that they could activate it? Is there a way to do so safely, or to communicate with it?”

“I am not well versed in the magics behind them. Some require great concentration to activate - a focus to be maintained mentally on where you are going, what it is you are seeking. Others simply require a sacrifice and will perform their allotted function.” He stood and began to pace, tension and static starting to rise in the air as he did so. “Our friends search for that which does not belong here. I worry that someone might find such an object, mistakenly seek to travel to another time, another place. Often it seems we are not where we should be, but I have found through my long life so far that there is a method to such things. Even if it does not seem feasible, we are where we are for a reason. A purpose. Perhaps a second chance at something we missed.”

Steve scoffed quietly, willing his eyes to stay dry as he twirled the pencil through his fingers. What possible reason could there be for him to be catapulted to this time, far from all he knew? What benefit could there be for him here with all he had known fading, gone? Thor laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, comfort flowing from his touch, the static suddenly leaving the air.

“Forgive me, my friend. I do not wish to cause you pain. I hope that soon your memories will return, that you will have a measure of knowing more of who you are, what your place is in this realm. Perhaps it is a blessing of sorts, that you can reinvent yourself, become a better person. Your heart is strong and true, you have great skills and empathy. Knowing you helps me to remember to be a better man, not to fall back into the bad habits I’ve learned over time.”

Steve smiled awkwardly and patted Thor’s hand.

“Thanks pal. How about we find the girls and go get some drinks?” The slap to his back made him jolt forward, glad he’d awkwardly dropped his pencil earlier so he didn’t ruin the drawing.

“A fine plan my friend. We can text your shield-fellow on the way. Let us go.”

***

One morning as Steve was making his way down to the lobby, he noticed Tony leaning against the wall, waiting for something. Standing out of sight, Steve watched him for a moment, the way he bounced in place, murmuring softly to himself, throwing and catching a small bag. Hoping that this wasn’t an ambush for anything serious Steve carried on down the stairs and made for the door.

“Stranger Danger! When do Pepper and I get to join you on one of your date nights? The anticipation is killing me.” Tony called out, following Steve as he walked by. Steve stopped and stared at the bag of blueberries being tossed back and forth, praying he’d misheard. “Seriously Arthur, let Pepper know. I’m sure she’d love to drag us all out for an evening - do the couples thing.”

And he wandered away, tossing the bag to Steve as he did so. He caught it by reflex, brain still whirling with new information. Was that what everyone thought he and Jim were doing? Was that what Jim thought they were doing?

Even as he worked on the mural his mind was busy replaying their encounters and shading them in the light of this new information. The day flew by, even though he couldn’t have explained what he’d worked on, or if he’d eaten, his mind still busy with processing if he was a terrible boyfriend or not.

The thought of having a boyfriend was not as unsettling as it could have been - he’d always noticed the occasional man, even if he hadn’t done anything about it - and even if it wasn’t totally accepted in this century, it was no longer illegal. It was more the thought of settling in here completely, making a new life, without even trying to go back, that left Steve feeling uneasy.

He should be trying to do more research, trying harder to figure out a way back. He should be looking for helpful information for Peggy and the others. Not sketching his companions past and present and hiding most of them away where no-one would find them. Not worrying about potential relationships with people here.

Sighing heavily, he put aside his supplies and rubbed at his temples. One step at a time: make sure he was still safe here, that he wasn’t courting further suspicion. Then find a way home.

He shook his head at the way that felt wrong. It was still home, it had to be. It was where he was supposed to be, not this strange man out of time that he was here.

Home was back where he belonged, with Peggy and the Howlies. Even if he and Peggy never came to anything, that was where he was meant to be. Not here. Not unless he had no other choice.

Scrubbing at his hair, Steve finished packing away his supplies and put them out the way in the closet nearby, grabbing his jacket before quickly scrubbing his hands in the restroom. He needed to settle his emotions before he had to deal with hiding himself away from the others here. He sent a quick check-in text to Darcy and JARVIS to let them know he was heading out, and set off for one of the seedier bars he’d found. With any luck he’d be able to leave his things there a while and head out for some stress-relief. The bartender usually knew where some of the fighting rings were set up, and there was almost always someone ready to make a stupid, drunken bet. 

His phone pinged with a response from Darcy, letting him know she was planning a movie night later so long as nothing cropped up for Thor and JIm. He sent back an acknowledgment and sped up slightly. If he wanted to be back for that without any sign of bruising he needed to get going.

***

He made it back to the Tower with some of his skin still itching as it healed, but all marks had faded from sight. Sometimes Steve hated the Serum, hated the way it stopped him from bruising, from scarring. The way it had taken all of the little marks of his life and obliterated them in one agonising moment.

He sat down with the others to watch the film, but he couldn’t stop the thoughts whirling through his mind. He’d settled here more than he’d realized, if he was going to go back could he just drop everything and leave. Should he try and break things off, take a chance to say goodbye?

Darcy’s hand on his arm made him jump. He’d been so deep in thought that he hadn’t noticed Thor leaving, hadn’t even realized the film was over.

“Arthur, are you alright?” she asked. “You’ve seemed kinda out of it all evening. Has anything happened?”

“Darcy,” he started, thinking. “Do you think I’m dating Jim? Do you think Jim thinks I’m dating him?”

Darcy sat back and blinked, confused. “You spend a lot of time with him, you guys go out together a lot. You could be dating, but usually people know if they’re dating. What brought this on?”

Steve groaned and buried his head in his hands.

“Tony did. Told me to arrange a double date with Pepper, that he wondered when they’d get to hang out with us. And, and-- I realized maybe I _have_ been dating Jim?” Steve stood and walked over to the window, stared at his reflection in the glass and decided to risk skirting closer to the truth.

“If I have a whole other life waiting for me out there somewhere, people that care for me worrying about me, should I even attempt to date him? Wouldn’t it be dishonest?”

Darcy came over and studied his face for a moment.

“Well, there’s some good options and some shitty options,” she said slowly. “You could abandon any chance of dating him, hope that your memories come back and that there is someone waiting for you. But I’d like to mention that if they are, they’re not trying very hard. Or, you could go out, have a date. See if there’s any kind of spark there and work through things as they come up. Live your life, don’t just wait on pause forever to see if the previous game reloads by itself.”

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained?” Steve asked, looking back at Darcy. When she nodded he turned around, leaning on the window.

“So, wanna help me plan a date?”

***

Steve and Jim were in a bar, having a couple of drinks before heading out to dinner, when the sports game on the TV was interrupted with breaking news - the Avengers were taking down robots in a midwestern town. Jim glanced over at the screen briefly, glaring at it as if it had done him a personal injustice, before downing his drink and reaching for his jacket.

“Let’s go, I get enough Avenger tracking from my colleagues.” 

Steve finished his own drink, watching Jim for a moment before reaching for his own jacket, and glanced up at the TV. He kept his face blank as he recognised Natasha and Clint taking down the robots. That explained a few things, he thought as he shrugged into his jacket, made their scrutiny of him make a little more sense.

“Where we headed?” Jim asked. 

“Bemelmans Bar,” Steve said. “I saw a review, thought we might enjoy the atmosphere.” 

And the familiarity of the bar would hopefully allow him to relax, not worry too much about giving himself away. Tonight was mostly about saying goodbye, in a way, figuring out how much he needed to cut himself off before he left.

Steve and Jim walked back to the Tower in a comfortable silence, Steve trying to ignore the butterflies rapidly overtaking his stomach. The evening had gone well. It wasn’t too different from how he usually hung out with Jim, but everything felt charged, the air seemed filled with expectation.

And Jim didn’t seem to notice.

He had chatted with Steve like usual, telling amusing stories from work. With jazz playing in the background, it was almost like being home again, Bucky embellishing the things he’d heard at work to put a smile on Steve’s face.

They were almost back at the Tower, coming up on a corner that Steve had noticed was a camera blind-spot. Seizing the moment, he took hold of Jim’s shining hand and pulled him closer to kiss him. The kiss was gentle, but he tried to let all his affection for Jim pour through. 

Jim pulled back slowly, shaking his head, and Steve felt his heart skip a beat.

He shouldn’t have done this, should never have tried. Trembling, he dropped Jim’s hand and clenched his own hands into fists, digging his nails into his skin to keep his feelings in check. 

“Arthur, I’m - I’m sorry. I can’t,” Jim murmured softly, staring at the ground. “I’m real sorry, Ste-- buddy-- I can’t.”

The color drained from Steve’s face when he heard Jim’s slip-up. Everything suddenly fell into place: all the familiar behaviours and mannerisms, the shades of Bucky he’d glimpsed, were really _him_ , faded and altered with the passage of time. 

What had _happened_ to him? How had he lost his arm? Had he been different after Azzano, had he missed all the signs somehow? He should have pushed harder, tried to go after him, searched for him when he fell--

Steve drew in a quick, unsteady breath and schooled his features. This was hard enough without Ji-- without Bucky realising the truth as well. Without opening wounds that must be long healed by now. He racked his mind for words, tried to pass this off as nothing.

“It’s fine. I just, just felt like I should give it a shot. We were spending so much time together, I wondered if there could be something more there.” Steve shrugged, infusing the movement with a nonchalance he was surprised he could pull off. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. But it’s probably best we pull back for a day or two, give me some space to figure stuff out. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Bucky looked up at him then, staring at him for a moment with unreadable eyes, before nodding. He used to be able to read Bucky so clearly, when had that changed? Had he even noticed Bucky pulling away from him?

“It’s not a _never_ no. I’m just working through some of my own issues, need some time to process things a little more before I try anything.” Bucky said gently. Steve nodded, resisting the urge to grab him, shake him, demand to know what had happened to him. To know who had done this. 

“I’ll -- I’ll see you around then. I gotta take a walk, ground myself a little before I head back.” Steve said, and began to move away. “See ya around.”

He waited for an answering nod before moving off further, meandering away from the Tower until he was certain that he wasn’t being followed. He walked faster then, hoping to burn off some emotion so that he would be calm enough to text Darcy without revealing his vulnerable state.

Certain that his fingers would no longer tremble, he texted Darcy asking her to meet him for an emergency debrief first thing, preferably somewhere far from the rest of the Avengers. Flipping the phone over his hands he eventually texted JARVIS to let him know he’d be out for a while yet, not to be concerned.

Briskly, Steve headed off in the direction of the nearest busy club and crept up the fire escape to conceal his belongings and change his clothes. He needed to hurt something, do something about the rage burning in his chest. Once he’d tamed that urge back to a more manageable level he had research to do, see what useful information he could uncover to help him when he got back. Try and find something that could send him home.

He’d have to go back now. There was no other option. No more wasting time. He had to see if he could save Bucky if nothing else. This hadn’t been about getting back to Peggy for some time now he realized suddenly. What he had been carving out here had been more fulfilling than the chance of a future he’d had with her. True, he still cared for her, he always would, but it was nothing like what he’d been starting to feel for Jim. Or the feelings he’d never fully realized he carried for Bucky, buried deep within his heart.

Perhaps if he was fortunate enough he’d be able to get back far enough to destroy Schmidt and Zola before they even took the troops at Azzano. Maybe even be able to stop the war before it even began, even broke into their little corner of Brooklyn.

He had to try.


	4. Chapter 4

Darcy was waiting in the lobby when he arrived, his mind still whirling with the realization that Bucky was here. Bucky was alive. He concentrated on being gentle as he took her arm and led her out of the Tower, putting on a show of chatting away nonchalantly as he went. With the revelation of Bucky he was more cautious than ever - surely Bucky would have recognised him? It wasn’t as if he’d been wearing a disguise, had changed anything aside from his name. That he hadn’t sent a shiver down his spine and Darcy looked at him with concern.

“Did you even try to sleep last night Arthur? You’re a mess.” She frowned at the shake of his head, steering them in a different direction.

“In that case I think we can declare this meeting an emergency. Tequila?”

He shrugged, knowing that alcohol would have little effect on him and followed where she led. The early morning streets around them were slowly starting to fill with office workers, the last few stragglers from the night before making their way home.

The bar Darcy tugged Steve into was quiet, gentle lights softening the bright colors on the walls. He headed for a booth near the back, secluded enough to give them privacy while letting him keep an eye on his surroundings. He was shaken enough that he jumped when Darcy seemed to suddenly appear beside him with two large pitchers, salt rimmed glasses dangling from her other hand.

“So, now’s the time you share the details you’re comfortable with,” she said, filling the glasses. “Then we decide the way forward. Bar’s open all day, so more pitchers if we need them. So, spill. What happened?”

Steve nodded and took a healthy drink, surprised by the sharp taste.

“The evening started off well, we enjoyed ourselves. I didn’t trip over my tongue or my feet, he seemed to have a good time.”

There had been a lightness to Bucky that he hadn’t seen since he arrived here, since before news of the worsening conditions in Europe had reached their door. He drained the glass, poured another.

“Then I went in for a kiss on the way back. And. And he - ”

Steve stared at his hands, drained the glass again, refilled it. Repeated the process. He was considering draining the entire pitcher, see if it worked any better than the whisky had when Darcy laid a hesitant hand on his.

“I’m sorry Arthur. I wish it had worked out, you two seemed so close. You were like a seamless unit.”

Steve bit his tongue and emptied his glass again so he didn’t mention how they’d used to live out of one another’s pockets, had almost a sixth sense for where the other was. How Bucky had always been there for him, had stayed to follow the little guy into battle, not the Captain.

“I think maybe we should get you a coffee. Take you back home. Let you relax in your own space,” Darcy said, pulling her pitcher slightly further out of reach. Steve shook his head, feeling the world spin slightly around him at the motion.

“Can’t go back, not yet. ‘M not ready yet.” He lurched to his feet, bringing Darcy with him.

“Arthur -- I think we need to go get you a cup of coffee. Or some breakfast. The tequila seems to have kicked in faster than I thought it would.” She said, dragging him out the bar to look for a cab.

“But I can’t get drunk. Tried it, didn’t work. All the whisky didn’t--”

Steve rocked forward as a metal bar connected with the back of his head, blurring his vision. Before he could react hands were grabbing at him, a van screeched up and he was being thrown inside, head impacting heavily with the floor of the van.

He could hear shouting and Darcy’s panicked voice as the world faded away...

***

Steve’s mind whirled and stayed fuzzy for several moments, memories gradually returning. He’d been in a bar with Darcy, somehow he’d gotten drunk. Had he been drugged? Who had taken him?

He laid still a moment, letting his mind settle and listened to the space around him, trying to figure out what was going on. The soft snuffle of stifled tears and the regular rhythm of wheels on tarmac were the only sounds that reached his ears. Carefully he opened his eyes and let out a soft groan at the way the light stabbed into his eyes for a moment. The sensation of fluff in his mind was clearing rapidly, but he played it up slightly on the off chance that there was any surveillance. Quickly scanning the interior he ruled out cameras, and he shifted minutely testing for restraints. When he moved the sniffling stopped and Darcy appeared in his line of sight, moving awkwardly with her arms cuffed behind her and her legs tied together.

“Arthur, oh you’re ok! I was so worried, they just grabbed you and threw you in here. They wouldn’t even look at you, just restrained you and warned me that was what was in store for me if I don’t do as they asked.” She was pale and shaking, clearly thrown by what was happening.

“Did you manage to figure out who they were? What they want? They grabbed me so quickly I couldn’t make anything out,” he murmured softly, carefully pulling himself up to a sitting position. His arms were restrained behind him, so they knew what they were doing, but they’d left his legs loose, probably trusting that the head injury would keep him down.

“I think they think I’m Jane.” She whispered, paling further. “I didn’t say anything. They didn’t seem to mention who they were, and they were just wearing regular clothes.” He nodded in response.

“Did they take anything from you? Have you got a tracker or alert device concealed anywhere?” She nodded, relaxing slightly.

“They took my bag, but I’ve got a bangle that has a concealed button. Not sure if it’s a panic button or a tracker.”

“That’s good. Now, when they stop and get us out I want you to run as fast and as far as you can. Don’t look back, just run, hide and press that button. Wait in hiding until you’re sure it’s a friend approaching you. You’ll get away from this fine, I know you can.”

“But Arthur -” He held up a hand to stop her, listening as the vehicle slowed.

“No time Darcy.” He carefully pulled his arms apart and the cuffs gave with a creak. “Quick, give me your hands.”

She stared dumbstruck at the dangling chains on his wrists before offering her hands forward and letting him snap her cuffs as well, before he leant forward and tore the ropes holding her legs together apart.

“Thank you for your help Darcy. I know you can do this, I won’t let them come after you. Remember, run when I say and don’t look back. Hide before you press the button and make sure anyone approaching is friendly. You’ll be ok.” She studied his face before nodding resolutely, blinking away any forming tears.

He felt the sway as the vehicle came to a stop, and the quiet murmur of the engine halted. Smoothly he moved closer to the door, waiting for them to open it, waving Darcy behind him as he did so in an attempt to give her some cover. When the door began to open he leapt against it, throwing the person on the other side back and jumped into the crowd surrounding the vehicle, forcing them to bring the fight to him.

“Go now!” He shouted, barreling into one person, sending them flying into the mass of others converging around him. He grinned viciously as he heard her start to run, and stopped pulling as many of his punches. He needed to distract them, prevent them from going after Darcy, give her a chance to get away and everyone else - they could deal with the situation properly but he needed to take them down for now.

Distracted by concern for Darcy he heard the whistle of approaching bullets too late to dodge them entirely, wincing at the bite and sting in his arm. Playing up the wound he stumbled back until he had the building at his back, glancing about for anything that might help him take these people down sooner. His eyes caught on a dish above his head, just out of reach. He waited until the next one came forward to attack before sending them to their knees and using them as a springboard to reach the dish, pulling the prong free from the centre as he dropped back to the ground. The last thing most of the group would know was the sound the dish made as it flew towards their heads, knocking them out.

With the last of them down Steve dropped his makeshift shield and quickly began stripping them of weapons before tying their hands and feet together, placing them all in the van. He bent a nearby rod through the handles to make it more difficult for them to escape and glanced over to the building. There had to be something there he could use to get away - he couldn’t stay and wait for Bucky and the others to turn up. He had to try and get back before he was locked away, studied for the serum and how he had made it to this place.

He’d shown his hand now, possibly burnt all his bridges. He’d just have to deal with the consequences as they came.

Grimly he set off towards the building, ignoring the itch of healing in his arm. If he was going to get away from here he’d need to be quick, take what he needed and get back to New York. He needed to get to one of his caches, double check some more of his research - find something to take him back home. But first, he’d have to get out of here.

Before anyone else caught up with him.

***

Bucky awoke feeling unsettled, a nagging sense at the back of his mind making him think he’d missed something. The sensation remained as he completed his morning routine and he headed upstairs to the common area - he’d need coffee to sort through his memories and emotions, and Arthur would need some space for a day or two.

His heart clenched at the thought of that gentle, timid kiss last night that had seemed to come out of the blue, but in hindsight had been building all along. All that time spent together having coffee, eating out. It had been building to something, and Bucky couldn’t hide the fact that some of it was attempting to bring back an element of his friendship with Steve back into his life.

No one reacted to his appearance when he turned up in the kitchen and started gathering breakfast and coffee, everyone caught up in something else. The lack of tension eased something in him - clearly they didn’t know about last night, or there might have been comments made in his direction.

Jane wandered in as he was finishing his breakfast, looking rumpled and confused.

“Has anyone seen Darcy? She was supposed to come with me to a meeting and I can’t find her.” The atmosphere in the room instantly changed, tension rising rapidly.

“JARVIS, do you have any details on Darcy? It’s not like her to forget about a meeting.” Natasha asked, pulling out her phone.

Ms Lewis left the building early this morning to meet with Mr Beauchamp. She didn’t indicate that she was going to be late back. Her phone indicates that she is at a cafe in town, however CCTV does not show her or Mr Beauchamp in the area.

Bucky frowned and caught Natasha’s eye, nodding towards the elevator.

“We’ll check out Arthur’s room - see if there’s anything out of place. Keep us posted.”

They moved quickly, leaving the rising commotion behind them. The door to Arthur’s room swung open as they approached, JARVIS deactivating the lock for them. Glancing around Bucky was surprised to see how impersonal the space was - the only thing stopping it seeming like a hotel room was a bookcase covered in art supplies and a few books. Natasha slipped through to investigate the bedroom itself while he moved toward the bookcase, wondering if it could give him any further idea of the mystery that was Arthur.

The range of books was eclectic - history mixed with art and science fiction; books that could have stepped out of his own past mixed with what could be on display in any modern bookshop. Carefully he ran his metal hand over the shelves before moving anything, checking for any kind of trap before carefully lifting one stack and flicking through them.

Natasha appeared silently at his shoulder as he picked up a cookbook he remembered Steve carefully looking after, one of the few things he had left of his mother after she died. The cover was even marked in similar places to the copy he remembered.

“The bedroom is clean. Almost too clean, there’s little sign of him living here - just a small neat pile of art supplies. Have you found anything here yet?”

“It’s like he’s staying here, not living here. The bookshelves are clear, books I’ve checked so far are too.” He replied, carefully opening the cookbook so he didn’t damage the spine and flicking through the pages only for some to fall to the floor. As Natasha leant down to pick them up he carefully pulled a loose page out to look at it.

Blood drained from his face as he looked at himself clad in his army uniform, cap set at a jaunty angle. Quickly he turned the book over and shook, sending more pages flying around the room. Images of Brooklyn, of Europe, the Commandos and snapshots of his life that no-one else knew surrounded him. Natasha stared at him in surprise.

He dropped the book and headed into the bedroom, glancing around it for a moment before lifting the mattress and looking behind the frame in one corner. A battered looking notebook caught his eye and he swore softly, flicking through it to find more images of the war, of a life that was long gone.

“James?”

“He’s been lying all along,” he murmured, studying the pages hungrily, before dropping it in realization. All the time he’d spent trying to look past the hints of Steve in Arthur, and he missed the cues staring him in the face. And when Steve finally made a move he was just like all the women that he’d set him up with all those years ago - rejecting him without giving him a chance.

“Natasha, we’ve got to find him. He might have left, but he wouldn’t have taken Darcy with him. Something’s wrong. We need to find him before someone else does, we can’t leave him in their hands. Hydra did enough damage with me as it is, I won’t let anyone use him like I was.” He grabbed the notebook and began to head off for his kit. “JARVIS, have you managed to track the current location of either of their phones?”

“Sir had requested I do so, but has departed with Thor for the location of Miss Lewis’ panic button before I could inform him of that location. Details have been sent to your phone.”

“Tell the others that’s where I’ve gone. And that I want everyone to get on the comm system, we need to be ready in case of an attack.”

“James, wait,” Natasha called, chasing after him. “Who is he?”

“A little guy from Brooklyn who’s too dumb to run away from a fight.”

***

Darcy was shaking like a leaf when Tony and Thor found her - babbling through her tears, words muffled by her tight grasp on Thor.

“He snapped the chains! They’d hit him hard and threw him into the van to intimidate me. He was bleeding so much-- and then he just _snapped the chains_ and launched himself at them. I heard gunshots as I ran, please-- you’ve got to make sure he’s okay. Please, he made sure I was okay, that I had time to get out. He’s not one of them.”

“Take her back to the Tower. I’ll check around here, tell the others to keep on the comms,” Tony said, nodding to Thor and flew upwards, getting JARVIS to check the local channels for any relevant chitchat. He scanned around for buildings, keeping an eye out for the van Darcy had mentioned, spotting it pressed against the side of a building moments later. JARVIS filled him in on the ownership of the site - a series of shell companies linked to other attacks the Avengers had dealt with.

He paused with a surprised breath when he was close enough to assess the situation. The van had been shoved against the wall, a pole wrapped around the handles to prevent easy access, bent weaponry left in a scattered pile nearby.

“JARVIS, can you access the CCTV remotely, or do I need to plug something in?” Tony asked, glancing around to see what else had been done.

“Downloading now, Sir. There may be further information accessible if we enter their system, and further insight into the operations of the companies might be gained.”

“I’ll find a port. Usual procedures - show me the interesting bits.” The offices weren’t as cluttered as he thought they would have been. Almost as if the intention had been to simply secure the site, not to deal with it.

A small feed popped up in one corner of the HUD: footage of Arthur bursting out the van as the goons went to open the doors. He felt like he’d seen that style before somewhere, but couldn’t remember where it could have been. The strange method of securing the van was repeated throughout the facility - an unusual show of strength. He left them all as they were, SHIELD could deal with it later, right now he had to figure out what hand Arthur had had in all of this. 

When he saw Arthur threw the satellite dish at them everything suddenly clicked. The strength, the refusal to let his blood be tested. The strange reactions.

Tony turned and headed back for the exit.

“Scan forward JARVIS, figure out what way he went.” Tony activated the jets and shot up into the sky, pondering the most likely route.

“I’m afraid I lost track of him Sir. Mr Beauchamp left the building and took a car from the car-park, but it was left in the next town over. I’m afraid he quickly vanished from the sight of all available cameras, but I suspect he is headed back to New York. Given the way in which he left surveillance I suspect he may have supplies there he wishes to collect.”

JARVIS paused a moment to allow Tony to swear at length as he turned towards the Tower, kicking the suit up into full speed.

“Agent Barnes has also discovered a wealth of artwork in the suite given to Mr Beauchamp and has angrily departed the Tower to collect the abandoned phones of Miss Lewis and Mr Beauchamp. Agent Romanoff is supervising him, whilst the others are preparing for potential combat.”

“JARVIS, let Natasha know that Arthur’s in the wind. Probably headed for New York. There must be something we’re missing here. Some sign, some clue.”

Tony mulled over the problem the rest of the way back to the Tower: everyone knew that Captain America had gone down with the Valkyrie, was still lost somewhere in the Arctic. His father had spent part of every summer up there, searching endlessly. Surely if he had returned Howard would have known about it, wouldn’t he? Wouldn’t Bucky?

By the time he touched down at the Tower he was no further forward in figuring out what could have happened, how a long lost war hero could have suddenly appeared 70 years later far from where he’d last been known.

Tony quickly made his way down to the main floor, finding Bruce and Clint suited up drinking coffee. Thor wandered back through, concern clear on his face.

“Did you have any success, Man of Iron? Has our missing compatriot been located?”

“He’s gone. No sign of injury but he’s gone. And I’m not sure he is who we thought he was.” Tony replied, retracting the faceplate and heading towards the nearest terminal to start scouring the SHIELD archives for any mention of Steve Rogers.

“Gone? But he showed no desire of wishing to leave here whenever I spoke with him. He mentioned nothing of his home when I spoke of mine, gave no sign of his memories returning.” Thor frowned, confused. “Are you certain he chose to leave of his own power, that he was not taken astray by another?”

“Did he ask you anything strange, anything unusual?” Bruce asked gently.

“We spoke of Asgard, of the things I miss. Arthur was greatly intrigued by our methods of transport, how our realms differ in the uses of them. He found the concept fascinating, had been preparing an elaborate depiction of the Bifrost for me.”

“Son-of-a-- JARVIS! Bring those files back up. Start searches for items around the New York area. See if you can get any images from the artwork in Arthur’s room and narrow down the results any.”

“You think he would attempt such a thing? I warned him of the danger of these objects, of the risks involved. Their function now may have differed greatly from their original intentions.”

“He’s a dumb punk. And he’s desperate.” Bucky’s voice behind them made Tony jump. “Better to start checking the footage now, include the stations as well. He might be trying to look further afield, prevent us from stopping him.”

“Extrapolating from available information it seems likely that he is headed for one of these locations.” JARVIS threw screens up around the room, displays from a variety of museums in the New York and DC areas. “With time these can be narrowed down further. I am maintaining awareness of points where we may brief catch glimpse of Mr Beauchamp but he has shown skill in avoiding cameras.”

Bucky stared at the displays for a moment before turning to head back out the room.

“I’m headed down to D.C. We should split up, take a location each. Try and talk him down, bring him back here. Treat it like any other mission, but try and get him a comm - I might be able to talk him down.”

The rest of them stared at one another as Bucky stormed out the room, Natasha nodding at Clint before turning to follow in his wake.

“I’ll let you know if I can get any further intel out of him on the way down to D.C. Whoever Arthur really is has thrown him, I’ve never seen him like this. Keep in touch, I don’t like what’s going on - it could all just be a ruse to get us to lower our guards, split up the team.”

Natasha left at a run, the rest of them awkwardly looking at the lists surrounding them.

“Well, that covers D.C.,” Tony commented after a moment. “JARVIS start crunching the details on the other locations. Thor - could you take a look at them all and see if anything seems familiar to you? We need to narrow this down, there’s too much out there.”

Thor nodded and came across, Bruce working on some smaller screens nearby and Clint pulling up the security feeds, scanning them for anything out of place. Tony sighed and left the search on Steve Rogers running in the background for now. There was no point raising Arthur’s identity at the moment, right now the focus was on locating him, hopefully stopping him. He’d heard whispered re-tellings of some of what Bucky had been made to do under Hydra, he could scarcely imagine how much worse it could be if someone got Rogers and made him work for them.

God help them all if that happened.

***

The Museum was silent, moonlight casting a strange glow over the corridors as Steve crept along, careful not to disturb the Guard on the floors below. He pondered the floorplan on a nearby wall for a moment, considering checking the upper floors for anything that seemed likely when his eyes caught on an abandoned flyer emblazoned with the stars and stripes.

He flipped it over to be greeted with an image of his own shield.

_‘Captain America - The Living Legend and Symbol of Courage’_

He stared at it, the hairs on his arms creeping up. It was worth a look before he went back, see what manner of impact he’d managed to leave. He might even be able to gain some information before he left.

Cautiously he made his way down to the exhibit, continuing to take care not to alert the guard. Stepping inside the exhibition hall, he was greeted with a large mural of his own face, a legend beside it speaking of how the story of Captain America was one of honor, bravery and sacrifice. But it also spoke of the man behind the uniform: the man brave enough to make a stand for what was right; who came forward not for glory but because he didn’t like bullies, no matter where they were from.

Slowly he made his way around the room, reading what he could of the boards before having to turn away. The section telling of his greatest sacrifice, of how Captain America was lost taking down a plane sent shivers down his spine. It could so easily have gone down that way. If he hadn’t managed to stay awake through the crash, if he hadn’t managed to swim free of the plane as it started to sink below the ice--

He turned away and moved onwards, rubbing his arms in an attempt to banish the goosebumps that wouldn’t fade when it caught his eye.

The chamber.

It stood up high, out of reach. Looking at it was like looking down from the booth afterwards, seeing Erskine’s blood still marking it’s surface. Realising what it must have been like for Peggy to watch and listen to him go through the process.

Distantly he realized he could hear a low hum starting to build. He glanced around, catching glimmers of light dance in the corner of his eye; the atmosphere of the room shifting with each passing moment. Steve stepped closer to the chamber, and felt the air pressure increase.

What was it Thor had said: sacrifice and power? That was what made the objects into magic, gave them function to their form. And the Red Skull had shown so much interest in the Tesseract, in gods like Thor: who was to say that there hadn’t been magic involved in Steve’s own transformation in the first place.

He leapt up onto the plinth, studying around the chamber with trembling fingers. There, on the back, hidden in dust and degrading paint. Something hidden from all but the most curious eyes. Carefully he brushed it free with a handkerchief, noting the similarity of the pattern that he’d kept drawing over and over again: swirls looping back and forth over each other, slightly more angular than the ones from the stones.

He stepped back, feeling the air start to hum now that the markings were clear, the his skin prickling with the building energy.

If he was going to try it was now or never.

He thought back to what Thor had told him: of how his people used the objects as a focus; of how with enough concentration they could make what they wanted to happen occur. He slipped into an almost meditative state, letting Brooklyn and the life he’d lived with Bucky fill his mind: the dances and fights, looking after one another. Allowing the companionship and warmth of those years wrap around him like a blanket.

Cold air suddenly washed over him, abruptly pulling him back - the phantom creak of glass under pressure, garbled static from the radio - all of that fear and sensation wrapping tendrils of sorrow and regret around him. The knowledge that he had to bring this plane down to save hundreds, thousands of lives, even if he’d rather just jump out and save himself. 

He heard the echo of Peggy’s words - he didn’t have to do this, that there had to be another way. But he had to do this, he was only one man, one man was not worth thousands. And besides, all he had known, all that had truly known the real him - all of that was gone, was lost. Those that wanted him back, they wanted _The Captain_ \- there was no way back, there was only the way forward.

He turned around, time suddenly flowing slowly around him, to see Bucky racing towards him, fear vivid on his pale face. The silence of the museum was ominous now, eerie and cruel in a way it hadn’t been before, the hum of rising power behind him sharp and vicious now. Steve stepped forward, hands held out placatingly in an attempt to calm Bucky. His foot caught on something, his balance shifting and he tumbled over the short railing, the world suddenly spinning around him and Bucky’s desperate _“Steve!”_ echoing with the memory of Peggy’s voice, as everything spun and blurred and faded away …

***

The world slowly came back into focus around him, although his head still ached. His thoughts moved like treacle and gradually Steve realized the ache was due to the pressure of apparatus surrounding him. Some of the leaden feeling in his limbs straps holding him down, aided by the dull throb of needles in his skin.

Unease spiralled up through him as he tried to remember what happened, how he came to be here but all that came to mind was falling, and coldness wrapping around him as someone called his name ...

A man leaned over him, round glasses glinting in the light and smiled down at him, sending chills down his spine.

“Awake already. Very good. But perhaps, you are not ready yet.” The man leaned back, speaking to someone he couldn’t see. “Again, more power this time.” The possessive smile on the man’s face was the last thing he was aware of as the world exploded into agony and faded away …

He drifted awake slowly, the sound of cheering and excitement filtering through his consciousness. Carefully he shifted, bed shifting below him. He opened his eyes, blinking at the light, feeling a soft breeze drift over him, the sound becoming clearer as he wakened.

A ball game.

Before he could focus on it further, it changed and a vague melody reached his ears. Cautiously he eased himself off the bed and glanced around the room, sparsely furnished as it was. Almost clinical in the way it was laid out, the only furniture a dresser and the bed. A shiver rippled down his spine and he moved towards the door defensively. He listened to the muffled sounds beyond and gently opened it, slowly in case people were waiting on the other side. As he opened the door, the music coalesced into Harry James’ Big Band music, the final swells before the lyrics usually came in. He leant against the door jamb, head spinning slightly, and listened to the lyrics, feeling the ache is his heart as the singer crooned.

_Haven’t felt like this, my dear, since I can’t remember when…_

He froze in place, nerves jangling. He scanned the room, noting some modern touches, and relaxed marginally, hoping the recent memories of the man leaning over him before the pain took him away were nothing but nightmares, fantasies. Cautiously he entered the room, poised to flee if necessary and caught sight of a man cooking in the kitchen, swaying in time to the music. As he watched the man turned around, almost as if he could sense the weight of Steve’s gaze on him, and Steve grasped the doorframe as he took in the sight of the metal arm.

Bucky raised his eyebrows at him just standing there and nodded towards the comfortable looking couch. Silently Steve wandered over and sat down, blood draining from his face as he recognised the cookbook sitting on the coffee table. He stayed silent, watching Bucky cook, waiting for a clue as to where he was, when he was. What he could trust to be real.

Bucky came over several minutes later, placing bowls of stew down on the table and picking up the cookbook to leaf through it.

“So, what were your plans once you got here?” Bucky asked, carefully separating out sketches and studying them, keeping his eyes away from Steve. “What would you have done if those guys hadn’t lifted you and Darcy?” Steve pulled over a bowl and started to eat, waiting for Bucky to build to what he was really wanting to ask. “What happened to the man with a plan? Where have you been Steve, what happened to you?”

Steve stared down into the stew, the weight of Bucky’s gaze making him feel like he was young again, lungs seizing up with asthma.

“You think I did this on purpose? Abandon everything I’d been fighting for, put myself somewhere I can’t tell truth from fantasy?” He met Bucky’s gaze with stinging eyes. “I stopped to look at a rock, thought about doing some art again. And I wind up some place else, some time else. And as far as I am aware everyone, everything I ever knew - all of that is gone. Long forgotten. A dream to most people. Why would I ever want to do a thing like that.”

“Steve -”

“I was trying to go back, find you. I find you here, I see the shadows in your eyes. I tried to go back, I hoped that I could find you, save you from what happened to you. And now I don’t know what’s real. I saw things, felt them, I can’t trust my own head right now.”

“Stevie.” Bucky grasped him by the back of his neck. “I’m here. I’m safe. And I got you.” He shook him. “You don’t gotta save me, I’m safe. I’m here and I’m safe. Besides, if you’d found me who’s to say you wouldn’t have just --”

“-- given them a matching set?” Steve continued, his mouth twisting up.

“Thought I told you not to do anything stupid while I was gone.”

Steve laughed wetly and buried his face in Bucky’s shoulder, clinging on for dear life. A solid connection to this time.

“If you really want to go back, we can try. But we need to do real research first, let the others help. Just don’t do it for me Punk. Yes the darkness tried to drown me. Yeah, I was put through some shit I shouldn’t have had to have been through. But it made me a better person. I pulled myself back together. I can’t go back to what I was - that dumb kid from Brooklyn with a chip on his shoulder who helped finish your fights, he was gone before you saved me from that factory. The man watching your back in the war wasn’t any better, didn’t know how to deal with what was happening to him. I’m a better person now - and I like who I am.” He held tightly onto Steve, letting him feel the security of his embrace.

“And I can’t even be all that bitter for the road that brought me to here, because that road brought you back to me. Or me back to you. Whatever way you want to look at it.”

Steve trembled in his arms, face buried into his metal shoulder. Eventually the trembling stilled, and he looked up.

“So,” he said, smile wobbling on his face. “About that second date--”

 

 

_“All that is gold does not glitter,_  
Not all those who wander are lost;  
The old that is strong does not wither,  
Deep roots are not reached by the frost. 

_From the ashes a fire shall be woken,_  
A light from the shadows shall spring;  
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,  
The crownless again shall be king.” 

J. R. R. Tolkien - The Fellowship of the Ring

 

 

**Mid-Credits**

Bucky ducked behind the car, narrowly dodging the stun rays impacting into the pavement all around him.

“Tell me someone has sights on the controller? I’m getting pinned down over here.” He shouted into the comms, hearing more aliens arrive.

“We’re kinda busy over here. Our own little infestation to deal with.” Clint snapped back, Hulk’s roars echoing somewhere nearby. “I’m afraid you’re on your own.”

Taking a deep breath Bucky tore the door from the car, raising it up as he ran towards the nearest building. If he could get some cover he could maybe take a few of them down, try and regroup with the others.

A succession of shots hit the door, giving him just enough protection to drop it and roll into the shade of the building. Something shot over his head with a low pitched him, and he looked up to see a body tumble to the ground, head balanced on the shield embedded in the wall.

“I’m starting to think you like getting shot.” Steve said, dropping next to him, keeping an eye on the street behind them. Bucky grinned.

“I had them on the ropes.” Steve groaned. “Did you raid my closet or something? You didn’t have to come out-”

“I wanted to know you had cover, that you had backup. About time I started watching out for you isn’t it?” Steve grabbed the shield, shaking it clean before grasping Bucky’s shoulder. “I know you can get by on your own, but the thing is you don’t have to. I’m with you to the end of the line pal.”


End file.
